Champion of the Sword (Mission for Veronica Corvis)

The streets of Paris ran red with blood as many myriad reports came flooding in to the newspapers of a new Jack the Ripper carving up people into something grotesque. All in common was the clean cuts, something reported to be consisted with length in distinct blocks, followed by tearing throughout the body as if gnawed and gashed out, with several profanities written in blood directed towards the ineffectiveness of Christendom as a whole in the language of Latin. Though all victims were muscular men, and so far even police officers and soldiers on a break. Their weapons were torn and so were their bodies made asunder, all within the same area of Paris, that was for the duration, cordoned off as a curfew was put into effect that all residents are to stay indoors during and after midnight, till the sun rises. Suspects are mostly thought to be extremists from the Middle East, much to the chagrin of the Middle Easterners as they are wrongly arrested, and held in indefinite custody as a result of this apparent war against Christian France.

That was not enough as a measure as a whole, with the arrests and the curfew together to be found ineffective. The police officers patrolling the streets are found minced in the dark hallway of buildings rowing up to form a corridor on the blocky tiled roads. As all lights are out, and no presence seem to linger with the distinct and latest massacre of armed police special forces operating with the local police units, the only establishment remaining on, technically not breaking the curfew, was a seedy bar located next to an alleyway, relatively small as the space wasn't that great. Seemingly there weren't many customers but a few people inside, and an overly obese bartender sweating profusely. The patrons was a Japanese man in traditional hakama and kimono, along with sandals wearing his hair in a Samurai topknot seated at a corner, another being a man with a beret and an eyepatch brandishing an old WWI era French pistol whilst seated by one of the tables in the middle, and the last distinctive person was a woman in red, smoking a pipe as she minded her own business at the bar stool.

Spoiler:

Information had been provided to her from the Vatican immediately upon her return from overseeing her adoptive daughters first mission, which was, regretfully, a resounding failure, and thus was sent upon her own that involved exterminating a local nuisance that had been plaguing the streets of Paris, which was well within True Cross borders. Locking away her thoughts regarding the mission in which she oversaw for her daughter, she had put her focus on the task at hand.  

Luckily, the nightly curfew imposed by law enforcement made it easier for her to conduct her search, arching across the night sky in the golden sheets of gospel as a means of transportation, and in doing so she utilized her ability to sense the unholy in order to help track down the suspected abomination that many believed to be responsible for the recent string of murders. Due to the evidence she had been provided during the mission briefing, it was a likely possibility. However, she would confirm it with her unique senses.

If it was the work of the supernatural, then she would know.

Finally taking a perch upon a nearby rooftop with her pages placing themselves back within her satchels, the cause of which being the faint feeling of a repulsive essence that was so common amongst those of unholy origin having finally crossed within range of her ability to sense it. Overseeing the seedy bar from her skyward position, the the Champion Paladin of the True Cross stood atop a ledge, her form silhouetted from the pale rays of moonlight shining down from above and her golden eyes peering out from the shadowed outline.

"I sense three of them that are definitely not human.... That's enough to be consistent with the reports I've received. Seeing as that place seems like the only inhabited establishment in this part of the city at the moment, it's only safe to assume strolling inside would be a deathtrap. So, let's wait a while and observe..."

For a good long while no activity came besides static repetition of the mundane. The cyclops brandished his pistol, cleaning it with tender care reminiscent one does a loved one. The man of origins Japanese from the shores upon which does the sun rises sat without even a single twitch or motion, like a statue, only once or twice casting a glance to the either two with an eye of suspicion and distrust, which was returned with gazes their own. The velvet woman took a long drag out of her cancer stick, inhaling only to exhale a long plume of smoke from her lipstick laden mouth outward in a rising grey, much to the discomfort of the obese bartender watching all of them with interest.

For but a brief moment, some flash of abominable energy puckered out of his form in a radiated illumination of darkness, before withholding itself from the plump fat man, suddenly the aura disappeared, and he snapped a look outside. That was but only one motion out of him, before he returns to tending his bar, cleaning out a few glasses with a clean handkerchief, shoving his sausage fingered hand into the glass's bowels, as he sweeps off filth, and exchanges it with the clean.

It would be finally, after several minutes, the first to stand up, was the cyclops. Pale as the shining night that dawned down the moon, gun still brandished, and fully loaded with .32 ACP rounds, he walks out with a swagger of confidence, albeit his face reeked of nausea, but he made no outward show of displeasure. His waltz seemed to bring him outside, as he looked at his pistol once having passed the door's threshold, at its very mouth. Seemingly in his own little world, his attention locks unto his gun. His manner of attire was old fashioned -- a white collar shirt with rolled up sleeves, suspenders worn over it, a pair of slacks, and boots, as well as a beret. Though besides an eyepatch, and the pistol, he'd seem merely another Parisian citizen, if not looking slightly middle aged and worn out.

"Quel jeune nuit pour répandre ma pisse. Mon cul me démange, mais ce n'est pas grave. Je serai à la maison assez tôt avec ma femme et mes enfants. Sans moi, ils seront dans la misère." He mused in a gravelly low voice with a menacing edge, smiling without showing teeth for it.

Patience was something Veronica had learned throughout her years as an enforcer of God's will on this abysmal earth, some even comparing her to a saint in that regard. The forbearance the Nun displayed throughout the long stakeout was that akin to a nightly predator, demonstrating a keen assiduity in the long wait for her prey to expose themselves. Calm, content, and stoic in all forms, she stood upon her perch without so much as a modicum display of eagerness in her body, the likes of which remained at ease aside from the small change in stance, which was simply the crossing of her arms under her chest.

Not a single moment would pass where her focus would deviate from the targets location; her constantly watching over the door for any signs of movement, her attuned senses deadlocked onto those of unholy nature sheltered within, all of her awareness being devoted towards forming an inescapable bubble that betrayed those concealing their nature to her. In light of all of this, she remained unmoved, as if a statue decorating the skyline by means of the ledge she had made into her perch, untouched by the recognition of time passage. She could have been like that for hours and she hardly would take notice in the state she was in.

Then, suddenly, after an inconsequential amount of time, she sensed movement within, and the door had finally been opened to reveal one of the three who bared the unholy stink around him. He seemed a daft man, certainly looking the part, but what made the Nun solidify him as such was the fact that he had in his possession a firearm, of which he seemed to have a noticeable fascination with from what the Huntress could make out. The keen eyes she possessed took notice of lip movement, but she had been far enough away to not be able to hear it.

It would have been irrelevant anyway. One of them had exposed himself to his huntress, and that was a mistake he would quickly regret.

Remaining in static posture, a simple exertion of her faith; a mental command, if you will, was all it took to block out the silver rays of the moon and have them be consumed by the golden light which originated from the satchels upon her lower back. It only took a moment for the vast swarm to erupt from the confines of their restraints, a single bible's worth immediately streaking down directly towards the seemingly inebriated man with harmful intent, while another bibles worth had been put on standby, still confined to the satchel but ready to erupt violently to conceal and transport their mistress should the need arise. They would swarm him with their numbers, and should any get the chance, they would wrap themselves around any part of the man's body and constrict with bone breaking pressure, though a few of them had been commanded to target the hand in which held the firearm, the attempt of which was to restrict the man's movement without a shot being fire.

It wasn't an impossible task, given the man's demeanor, but nonetheless it would be painful in many regards should any of it go as planned.

The nausea grew to sheer sickness validated by the grossly incandescent illumination of sun-like rays shimmering around an angelic-like being from atop the man as he beheld her in sheer dread and wept at the sight. Both, in sheer joy and fear as the feeling was calm, pure even, and yet at the same time, was stained and mired with the intent to kill. The very person that stood in contrast to his own existence, in darkness and forlorn with all the abhorrent inhumanity that could muster within his own being, and it was out of his own choosing. To forsake God and to embrace a life that exalts entities infernal and with Hellish intents deigning unto the world. His singular sight inclines upwards at the figure whom he hated for her graceful comeliness marred with a disdain of disgust twinkling in those eyes, even as the light almost blinds him with their rays, he opted to fight and stand defiant.

It was but an instant that felt like time slow down by a major dilution to have seen her, but no proper creature would possess a reaction of such that he can regal himself with the sight of the woman, and still retain ample time to flee for his life if that'd be the obvious means. No, he has deigned for both. He ran to the side and quickly took a turn around the corner into the alleyway, pistol aimed at the woman, and began firing whilst in his hasty retreat down the dark section away from the nun whilst being assailed by the paper torrent, hoping they wouldn't come close as he made change in places, making shots at those too as he had spent his entire magazine. Two bullets to the Champion's head, and the rest at the papers thinking them naught but mere scraps that can be taken down by makings of mediocrity, that of steel and industrial products, and not that of heresy and heathenism.

"Votre présence est inutile! Je ne suis qu'un rouage dans une grande machine qui défera votre Église! Nous allons voir votre culte détruit après des siècles d'efforts!" He prattled on in his hysteria, laughing harshly in a guttural and almost assured sense of victory.

Immediately, just as they had been prepared to do, the woman the creature below had come to see had been swallowed up by the secondary swarm she had prepared, obscured by their pages, lifted rapidly towards the sky in their safe embrace, just in time to avoid the two shots that had been aimed to take her head from her shoulders. Arching across the rooftops in her golden company of what many would compare to miniature angels, as if to escort her out of harms way, she could not help but feel a small sliver of pity for the foolish thing. It wouldn't affect her, however, not in the slightest.

The pages sent to assail the man had been subject to his trigger finger, a regret that Corvis merely regretted for a moment as her attempts to capture him without a shot alerting the quiet surroundings failed. The golden pages, bright and heavenly as they seemed, continued their pursuit, very few of them now sporting holes - some having multiples - from passing bullets. The Paladins faith fueled them, and they obeyed like a hive-mind, indifferent towards their newly received wounds. They were hellbent on ensnaring their prey, and they would not stop unless utterly destroyed or commanded too.

Their determination was only exceeded by their mistress.

The vampire had all but trapped himself in his own hysteria-driven retreat, backing himself into a narrow alley in which someone of Veronica's capability could easily exploit. Due to the positioning of the man within the alley and Veronica haven taken an aerial path to the roofs bordering the alley, her method of approach would be obscured. In actuality, the Nun had dropped down onto the roof itself while the swarm of golden faith carrying her continued on to circle around the vampire, in which it would turn, rushing towards him just the same as the other swarm.

Coming at him from either side, the abomination would likely be caught within the two colliding masses, where upon the pages would do the job of carrying out their previous orders of restraining the beast with bone-cracking pressure. However, Veronica had a backup plan. She had no idea if it would be needed, but a swing of both her hands had allowed three crucifixion stakes to appear between her fingers, ready to loose them at anything that caught her eye; likely the abomination making an attempt to escape to the rooftops as well.

"MERDE!" He cursed, stopping to a skidding halt, seeing his escape route cut off, and a swirl of pages being spun from front and back closing in as the distance dwindled into less and less gaps for each moment passed, he thought he couldn't hide it anymore. Not anytime soon. Reaching up with his free hand in great speed towards his eyepatch as he flips it upward, the cyclops unveils from behind that concealment a void of reddish black and veins of red surrounding an orb of crimson glowing from his vestigial eye socket. His pistol glimmered with outlines of red, as he pulls the trigger twice. The pistol was previously empty, and in spite of that, spat out two balls streaking with red as they bounced off of the walls, shredding the papers around him into many pieces as they bounced in the velocity akin to that of a bullet.

They never stopped as they kept bouncing around him perpetually, before finally from the slight crooked angles, bounced off into the onward walls in a zig-zag pattern, and the other into the sky. The wall bouncing bullet makes towards Veronica once more albeit to her leg, the rightward ankle.

He had hoped the bullets would've done the job to stop the torrent of papers, as he knew death brings no peace true believers can rest easy knowing, but damnation eternal that'll burn his very essence from the very pit where evil is made undone.

"Pardonnez-moi Dieu, moi qui ai mené ma vie dans le mal réparerai dans l'au-delà. Je regrette tout, et j'embrasse mon chemin. Mais je vais descendre savoir ma mort ne mettra pas fin aux desseins contre l'Eglise..." He made for a mutter, looking upwards, as his panic and anxiety washed away. His gaze only affixed itself at the nun as if an angel sent from God, watching her make for her next move. It was hard not to see her, she glew with the splendour of the sun. His face slacked, and he looked peaceful in spite of the imminent threat to his life daring at him, grinning. "Vous venez de ma tête? Prenez-le! Vous êtes seulement un putain de vos maîtres de marionnettes!"

Torn asunder, shredded to bits like worthless rags, and scattered to the alley winds as if they were of no significance; such was the fate of innumerable pieces of the two swarms that she had sent forth to rend and crush the disgusting abomination below. Not all suffered that fate, however, and those few that had managed to survive the onslaught of the odd projectiles had pinned themselves against the walls of the alley. In response, a transparent barrier of holy energy has risen to keep the exits at each end of the alleyway inaccessible, locking the vampire within the confined hallway.

Veronica, however, who was already prepared for something to come her way, had lept back with no small amount of urgency at the sight of the unholy magic that had been turned against her, loosing the salvo of three blessed crucifixion stakes with near-supernatural accuracy toward the red orb. Upon leaving her fingers grasp, she had touched the ends at the last second, adding a rotation to their streaking forms, which would add even more penetrating power to their already concrete-shattering force. In doing so, the swarm of pages from her third bible shot from the confines of her satchel and enveloped her in it's welcoming embrace, shooting her up towards the sky in a golden pillar.

Three stakes for the orb, divine blessings against some unknown black magic, keeping with the cliched aspect of good pushing against evil and vice versa. The resulting collision of the objects caused a decently sized explosion, the likes of which failed at reaching Veronica at the height she had obtained. Surrounded by the pages, they suddenly dispersed, leaving her shadowed form suspended high in the sky for just a moment before sudden contortions remolded her form into one of aggression. Aiming herself headfirst toward the trapped vampire, one leg outstretched fully, the other with the knee pulled to her chest, and her arms, who's hands now each sported another set of crucifixion stakes, had become crossed infront of her.

Gravity pulled her towards the land below, and towards her prey. That was not the only driving force, for as if given the specific purpose to act as a hammer of God himself, the golden swarm once again enveloped her in it's divine embrace, propelling her towards the unholy being below with speed beyond human comprehension. Amongst the golden escorts and fluttering forms of gospel, a transparent blue sphere of violent, holy energy has surrounded her within pages, the pages parting just enough to allow the vampire a visual on the words plastered on the transparent orbs surface: God Lives In Heaven.

It was the epitome of her skills as an exorcist, and the very concentration of such holy energy had been demonstrated to utterly scorch flesh from bone, and the physical impact the orb had on such unholy rejects only deepened the damage it could establish, that being the bone shattering impact it could deliver simply due to it's ability to reject all unholy influences that dared touch it. Evidently, the golden swam tailing behind her had also fanned outward in akin to the appearance of golden wings, giving the Nun the outright visage of an angel of righteous fury descending to deliver God's wrath upon those who walked the darkness.

During her rapid descent, which would last only a moment at the speed she had been propelled at, the True Cross Champion spoke aloud, as if to give a response to the beasts incoherent ramblings, which would end upon the exact moment of likely devastating impact. "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and now you face his wrath from the Heavens above, for I am his instrument! Amen!"

He swallowed a huge lining of his saliva as he found his options limited completely, even as he had foreseen the circumstance based on the projection of each actions, his was that of perceiving, but not to act against. His vestigial eyesocket inlined with sheer black veins now coarsing throughout his body, pulsating and growing fatigue in him, robbing strength from his legs as he began to regret having missed the shots. The sheer nausea from the holy powers surrounding him had grown weakness to sputter out huge gobs of ichor bluish and luminscient in colour before him, his breathing hitched as he had foreseen the great power that tore his bullet asunder into thousands of harmless dust in the clash between the four projectile forcing against one another in a collision titanic in the skies, lighting it up.

Elsewhere, gunshots rang from two blocks behind Veronica and frantic screams, muffled forever by a distinct organic ripple of gushing meat being eviscerated. Further gunshots followed, and further they were silenced followed by the screams again panicking and begging for mercy in the language French, before everything went quiet as the very foreboding atmosphere of the area. Fog began to descend down, clouding the streets and the area whole in thickness that only 20 meters can be seen with recognition, as the rest encompassed by a veil of obscurity.

The vampire points his firearm upward at the meteoric nun showing him something akin to angelic divinity, had pulled the trigger anew, again and again and again, sputtering out bullets streaked by red to directly lance towards her, moving as farthest as he could within this restricted amount of space to out himself from the path of the rocketing champion of the cross. He had leaped towards the barrier, punching against it, kicking, slamming his head. ANYTHING to get out of the way of the nun in the small amount of space provided, even going as to so far as to pull the trigger at the shields to oust it into opening.

What he saw suddenly brought him hope. A man at the end of the alleyway outside of the barrier's restrictive walls watching the whole time whilst basking in the fog, the same Japanese whom rested his palm on the pommel of curiously a Western saber. "Vous! Les Japonais! Aidez-moi! Sauve-moi d'un destin qui me condamne à mort! Je parie que vous! J'ai mené ma vie en erreur... Je n'ai aucun espoir d'entrer dans le Royaume des Cieux comme je meurs!"

His impassioned reply was met with something much more curt. "Au revoir, et bon débarras."

And then impact plummeted down as though he was not in the focal point of it, he was at the mercy of the enemy that was akin to a sun that he praised with profane curses and utterances of dreadful oath making.

A pitiful creature, even when consumed by the shadow of death in which the Champion of the Cross now projected from above. All of them were, for they lacked a will to live; a strength that only humans had been blessed with, to face all odds, to push back against them. It didn't matter, as the abominations petty display below would soon come to an end. All things unholy were but made from ashes, and to ashes they would return, as was the creed of those who served in her order.

She had take notice of far off gunfire, but placed it at the back of her mind. She had divine retribution to deliver.

The unholy projectiles fired in futility, most being destroyed upon contact with the holy orb of protection which acted as both her shield and sword against the enemies of God, others merely bounced off like a ricocheting bullet to disappear into the distance, as was the power of the Deos Coetui Angelorum; the rejection of all unholy influences that dared intend to obstruct it's righteous path which carved forward in the Heavenly Fathers name.

The vampire had limited area to move, which allowed the Nun to track him to his last location; frantically pounding against the holy walls which condemned him to only death. In doing so, by a simple willful command of the pages, her course altered to follow at the last moment, now swooping down along the ground with full intent and speed to crush the abomination in between the sphere which surrounded her and the barrier which trapped him. A painful event to be exposed to, even for the most powerful of unholy creatures in her experience.

The resulting impact sandwiched the poor creature between the two divine powers, crushing him, scorching him, burning his body with the holy powers he had rejected until naught but ash remained. The explosion of ash did little to halt her forward charge, still protected by the Holy Sphere which could be maintained for only another minute or two, and pressed forward again towards the individual who had in his possession a blade. She had sensed he, too, was not human, likely one of the trio from the bar, and set her lethal intents upon his person as the next target.

Continuing at her top speed which was only impaired for a modicum of time by the previous body, the pages previously used to create the barrier had joined in with those amassing around the Nun as she flew by, naught but a blur of blue and gold to mere mortal eyes. Taking precautions to maximize her potential to score a hit, the stakes within her fingers were loosed in a volley of silver streaks. Two had been sent toward either of the mans sides to mitigate the changes of him using them to sidestep, while the final two were launched above the mans head to prevent him from leaping abound to the skies at an attempt for safety.

On the chance that she would miss the sword-wielding creature, her golden-laced path would arch towards the sky to prevent herself from crashing into the building across the street, in which case the golden escort of pages would allow her the advantage of higher ground.

------
OOC: Deos Coetui Angelorum dies out on my next post, where upon it will be subject to a four post cooldown before another use can be made of it.

A last guttural shriek escaped his charred burning body bristling from the flames licking him, blue holy fire purifying not his soul, but of his existence from a world where he deserved not unlife and the blasphemy of his very existence to continue his reign of terror. His very clothes caught fire and turned to cinders, cremated into mere ashes of black, pooling around in a mound of dark particles on the ground which was proof of his existence, as a sludge of molten metal filled it up as the remnant of his firearm that was consecrated for nefariously evil purpose. His last sight was of denial from the pearly gates, and to be cast down from a long tunnel where he had seen the light ahead, only to descend into darkness. His purgatory.

The Samurai remained unmoving, placing his hand on the grip of his Western saber, followed by several flashes of arced light streaked across in front of him from many directions and above and flanks. His very aura rose with a dark outline of smoky black from his general being, radiating with sheer killing intent as he had remained calm the time whole. Seemingly not having drawn the blade even once in spite of the strikes ahead which reduced the stakes from even a distance into many choppy blocks that harmlessly deflected outwards and away from his general being from those arcs in the opposing direction, leaping backward as opposed to a sidestep. There were curved clean slits across the pavement and one gaping at the buildings ahead that were behind those side duo-stakes, as he had finally withdrawn his sword in a quick rasp of its edge against the scabbard grinding against it. The weapon itself in fact a normal looking blade with light reflecting off its unusually polished surface that mirrored the visual image of whomever so gazes upon it, or the environment in itself. His eyes capable of keeping track to that blur of speed that were the nun.

With the oncoming agent of the holy, he cracked a smile, a liberal democracy with his own otherwise stoic demeanor he held in check. "Je vais parler un langue que nous comprenons tous les deux." Foreseeing her path, he swung his blade in her direction in spite of the gap between the two shrinking whilst she arched in advance before his eyes. It was by no means something unholy but what is through sheer discipline and skill that brought about a distortion of slit-like crescent speeding towards Veronica in an intercepting opposition in a collision of bifurcation with the intent to split her in half in a perfect vertical division. It was air in itself that composed it, sharpened from its edge as if it was a sword coming to cleave her in half. "This blade of mine is but a tool, but it has worked well to sate my bloodlust. Many have died to my sword, and still, I am not satisfied. Invincible they call themselves, skilled, sometimes challenging me for a cause, and other times for pride. In the end, they all fell. Will you be just like them, I wonder?"

Reflex honed through years of experience and wisdom granted from countless encounters drove her body into a series of actions that felt like familiar repetition. The previously loosed salvo of stakes were immediately replaced upon the Nun's retrieval of her hands, their movement concealed for only a moment by the fluttering pages in order to allow her acquisition of six more stakes tucked tightly between her fingers. Guided by involuntary instinct forged in the fires of diligence, the six stakes were crossed infront of her center to intercept the incoming slash projection.

It was merely air given a cutting form, and the solid steel stakes used as a guard were simply meant to break it's form and disperse it, which they did, but it was not without compromise. Arching upward towards her already determined path, the Nun perched herself upon a nearby ledge in a crouch. The stakes used to intercept the strange projectile wind had received deep grooves carved into their forms, cutting to the core, nearly splitting them in two, but thankfully the trusted weapons held up to the task.

However, she had not escaped the ordeal unharmed. Crimson nectar had marred her features, sprinkling down to drench her habit and paint the ledge with droplets of red. A laceration had been made upon her previously untouched flesh, cutting from the hairline down to the bottom of her right cheek. The eye itself was spared from mutilation thanks to her weaponry intercepting the impact, but the damage done was deep. She would have to wait and see if a scar would be born from it or not, but she had to focus now.

Inhaling through her teeth, which were clenched from the stinging pain, she rose to her full height in stalwart defiance, a menacing glare piercing over her left shoulder with the use of her single golden eye, the other remaining closed to keep out the excess blood pouring from her face. In response, almost as if enraged by the act, the pages from the last remaining bible within her satchel erupted violently from within it's prison, merging with it's sister swarm to form a twisting, wriggling sea of thousands that spread across the night sky.

Logically, a small swarm that was large enough to be used for teleportation was kept in a circling path close to her, ready to be used upon any reflexive instinct that called upon them.

However, something came with the newly arrived pages. During their exit, they had brought with them three of the four vertical ampoles that were also nestled within the satchel pockets, the sound of them shattering from the clutches of the pages nonexistent from the overwhelming roar of the fluttering mass. Sparkling dots began to drift down from the golden ceiling that the pages had made, their heavenly forms bringing about a hail of blessed silver to rain down upon the unholy swordsman in a massive scale onslaught to reek havoc upon his flesh and lungs with their holy forms.

What would follow would be her sharp tone, menacing and dripping with metaphorical poison as the swordsman had managed to do what so few have in the past; spark her anger to the fullest, which caused her only visible eye to glimmer with an innate rage typically left concealed. "Filthy fucking mongrel! The bloodlust you harbor inside that rotting vessel of decadence that is your living corpse is naught but a speckle of dust compared to that which I'll bring upon you!"

Immediately the swirling pages stationed around her vicinity violently came to life, consuming the enraged Nun to obscure her from the swordsman's view. However, before lifting her skyward in a mere moment of notice to blend within the mass still in the sky, the damaged stakes which were clenched in the Champion's fingers were loosed in a salvo of lethal intent, shooting from behind the golden smokescreen of gospel with concrete shattering force with their one and only target being the abominations center mass, the backing force bring more than enough to take the thing off of his feet and punch though his flesh without issue.

The Samurai took notice of her actions intently, but in a calmer stride, remaining coolheaded throughout the entire ordeal as he felt honestly the same dullness he had from all other battles. At first, he was impassioned with great mixture of fear, excitement, desperation and exhilaration. But now, it felt every fight was a chore. He found himself partaking in the ordeal languidly, without mirth or joy, to measure himself higher than he already was, lest he had seen himself stagnate and become unworthy of his own self measured worth.

Blood, the red vitae that would drive other vampires hungry had harbored none the reaction of gluttonous predation eyes would twinkle in another but his with vacancy in spite of the concentration furrowing, he can now smell the scent of iron in the air, copper-like oxidized that ran through his nostrils advanced from that beyond human norms, to know the smell of blood anywhere. It was unsatisfying, but he could tell much about the physical aspects of her body judging by her blood. It spoke of exercised training and reeked of experience in fact, he surmised. Her movements were not that of a greenhorn, but a person practiced through repetition of the hunt of taking down those he'd loosely call 'his kind'. They were merely his kind in name, but he had felt no connection to those ravenous monsters acting without purpose but that their hunger.

The anger spoke lengths of what he perhaps felt could draw out her inner rage he had beholden from that singular glare from the newly made cyclopean visage of her twisted face contorted into a grimace boiling hot in a volcanic wrath. The Samurai's languid stare looked to his sides, and concluded an easier vantage about this fight, perhaps that this was a nuisance, having watched the whole fight, her manner of battle, he had thought, delved on restricting the advantage of the opponent's maneuverability and capacity to molest the enemy with scathing attacks. There apparently seemed the surprise in him having proven the exception.

"Well then, are you going to let me tarnish the rust off my sword and prove to be as good as you look? Or are you just going to be but another number to my tally?" He sighed out before she has spoken her piece and before the hail of tumultuous destructive rain, "Let's see about that."

He had decided, that instead of running to the back which is an exercise in futility, his speed picked up within a flash and an after-image left in place from his former location, a blur far beyond the normal vampire, his mass crashed into the door and sent it flying into the building the nun stood over on top, he himself entering the bowels of this rather wide clearing of space only to see the rain and salvos of her retribution impale his after-imagery as it had faded to nothing. His skills were not suited for this kind of ordeal, to weather through a storm, which bothered him as annoying and a nuisance to an extent that sparked something in him. Something he never had thought awakened, which is an inkling, a taste of his past glee. Maybe exertion is going to prove a good exercise after all. The area former and behind him had begun to be blanketed in the woman's wrath as Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He had spent his vision to look all around, his senses honed, and kept focused on even a minute change of sound and putrid feeling of holiness now oozing out all over the place in a shower of toxicity that would no doubt hamper and weaken him much worse than any opponents he had undone.

Concealed within the golden blanket which covered the sky in their divine glow, the Bloodhound of the True Cross followed the creatures movements even without the use of her eye; she could sense his very presence, not having the capacity to escape her attuned senses that had been honed for the sole purpose of locating his despicable kind so that she may exterminate them without mistake. He had ran, fleeing from the open streets to take shelter from the silver onslaught which would no doubt bring him unimaginable pain if contact was made.

A small tendril would break away from the swirling mass, numbering no more than a few dozen sheets of gospel, far too little to even make a noticeable dent within the literal sea of thousands still laying their claim on the sky in resemblance to a large blanket. The tendril would lower Veronica to safety, a position taken upon the roof opposite of the building she had previously been on and, by extension, opposite of the vampire, as he had used that same building as what he thought to be a means of safety.

Veronica was enraged, but reason had not left her. The abilities in which she possessed through her faith allowed her to control the battlefield and change the tides of conflict in her favor. She would not grant the enemy that advantage by restraining herself to a small room with someone well-versed in swordplay. No. She promised him bloodlust, and she would bring it down like the wrath of God bombarding the sin-crusted cities of Sodom and Gomorrah.

She would bring hell.

Overlooking the broken doorway as the glittering rain of silver continued it's lengthy dance, she would lift her hands with her palms toward the sky as her angry glare fixated on her targets location. A willful command brought the blanketing sea of pages to life, causing them to suddenly form into a swirling vortex of titanic proportions, it's form resembling that of a hurricanes eye, as if to represent the rage of their mistress and her desire to erase those of unholy existence. "Behold, the day of the Lord cometh, cruel both with wrath and fierce anger. The Lord will rejoice over you to destroy you, and to bring you to naught. You art but dust, and to dust you shalt return! Disappear!"

The outstretched arms would lower, dropping suddenly as if releasing a heavy object from their grasp, but in actuality it was the effort of pulling down the Sea which was afloat in the night sky. The swirling vortex roared, suddenly descending by means of multiple tendrils of enormous size, the volume and rapidity of which allowed the lingering shavings of silver which had yet to touch the ground, and upon turning abruptly to race towards their target and his current place of hiding, picked up portions of the shavings which had come to rest after making landfall.

The golden tendrils, now glimmering with leftover silver of blessed attributes, would plow through the destroyed door and crash through the windows, the intention of flooding the room and spreading the silver shavings within the confined space being easily recognizable. The flooding torrent of pages lurched forward, their countless bodies making for any chance to latch onto any portion of the swordsman's body to apply their bone breaking pressure, though four individual pages, camouflaged amongst their sisters, would pin themselves in each corner of the room, where they would erect a holy barrier to keep the creature trapped in the box of holy fury.

In preparation for her own assault, Veronica's hand disappeared within one of the satchels upon her lower back, retrieving a small glass sphere with a cross painted upon it's surface. It was a spherical container of holy water, in which she held in her right hand. The left would retrieve three undamaged stakes from the satchel as well, having exhausted the numbers of those kept hidden within her sleeves. She would drop down to the streets below, the speed of her fall controlled by the small cloud in which placed her there in the first place, in which she would observe the swirling mass within through the broken door frame, her crucifixion stakes held at the ready, her senses attuned, her body prepared to react to any sudden changes at a moments notice.

If things did not go as planned, she had something else in mind.

The gunshots that emerged in further tempo had come unceasing as they furiously rattled on without stop, to be silenced one after another as the quantitative amount had dwindled to almost non-existence. Screams accompanied a crescendo that had shouted out with agony coloring their tone whilst the destructive force that had encompassed them undone the buildings into rubble as if a thousand sledgehammers had broken through them from afar, the fog-like atmosphere grew thicker as 10 meters began to be the only source of clarity in a sea of obscurity that melded well with the holy torrent of rage and wrath alike from the nun. Blood began to colour the skies above, or more accurately the skies grew darkest with red making it clear the abhorrently unnatural settled with atmospheric changes that dawned with nauseating force. A river of blood ran across the streets, ichor-like and coagulated with thickness as if syrup, as a laughter feminine bellowed out and echoed throughout the area from an unattainable source that seemed everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Ha ha ha. Oh, this is going to be much more than I can handle. Worthwhile... desperation, I haven't felt that as often as before." He had faced the woman with a shred of defiance in his own eyes, mired with appreciation that his blood boiled with something he hadn't felt in a long time explode into sheer adrenaline rush as his presence radiated with further will to strive and survive in the face of adversity greatest and within the most capability to unmake him. In his years of training, his skills not a testament to his supernatural magical ability but sheer training, dutiful training without an end to a point that there are those that have accused him of possessing the arcane arts of sorcerous capabilities. None of that were true. In order to leave no escape, he had to strike from many points at the same time, but how does one actually do that? Through arduous training with no end that was Hellish and reached realms beyond human with no part to do with his supernatural heritage.

Instead, at the incoming torrent exploding through the window in a vast stream, and through the door, deigning to reach the swordsman, he'd leap upwards towards the hardened stony top, slamming his fist unto the ceiling as it exploded out into rubble whilst below, as if escaping a tsunami, the flood had encompassed the room below whole, whilst he had gotten to the second story. He took a long breath in his undead putrid lungs and swallowed a large swathe of air, clearing his mind as he had assumed a Zen-like state.

"Elle ne voit que ce qui est petit, aveugle à la menace qui est plus grand que moi. Je suppose que cela fera pour une fin de montage. Le sort en est jeté, et cette comédie tire à sa fin." He gave off a final mutter, as Veronica descends, he leaps out of the window when she was street level, sword raised as he arced over the air, both hands holding the hilt, as he descends it downwards with double the power of his original strike sending a swirl of sharp gust-like hurricane wind to crest towards her once more, uncaring of his fate as he had remained cool of mind, unwavering, but wearing a face of sheer happiness like an innocent child.

His weapon swung downward, and he was above her overhead, over that stream below rushing at his former hiding spot, descending his blade downwards as they came from three directions at once, dipping into realms that rapes physics as that one strike produced two simultaneous ones coming from left and right cresting for her from both directions. A mockery of her previous attempt. His final dance, he saw. Those two far weaker though, whereas his frontal a hurricane, the side ones akin to the earliest attack that lined red across her face and contorted her into the spell of rage.

"BANZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAI!!!!"

The True Cross Champion was stubborn and stalwart in her duties, but the attention that was demanded by the throbbing, seething wound that laid claim to the right side of her face had forced her to drop to one knee, the wrist of her right hand finding a place against it as if to somehow ease the stinging agony that she could no longer bring herself to ignore. The eye beneath it all felt as it if had been bathed in pure flame, and the laceration around it made the right side of her head feel as though it was dunked in acid.

The gunshots barely registered to the pain-stricken Bloodhound, she had heard them before and put them to the back of her mind. She had already deduced that the cause was likely her third target, which had curiously disappeared from her senses, the only explanation of which being it had slipped out of her maximum range while she had engaged the previous gunslinger and the current swordsman, and she had plans to deal with it just as she had done the last. Unfortunately, that meant sacrificing whatever lives were lost to do so, as taking them on all at once was something even she wouldn't have the capacity to do.

Not now...

The Information Bureau of the Church had given her false intelligence. This was anything but a routine execution. That fact became painfully apparent to her the moment she had witnessed the gunslingers unique ability with that pistol of his, and was later confirmed by the swordsman's inhuman skill with a blade. That lack of information left her unprepared, and look at the state she was in because of it. She would speak with them when she made it back, and they would know the extent of her rage just as this beast would.

A sudden tingle creeping up her spine had taken her by rare surprise, feeling something far more ominous suddenly appear within the range of her sixth sense. She felt a sickening vibe creep upon her; her very body responded to it with what could be classified as anxiety. The blood on her face, freshly flowing in downward streaks, had altered their course, painting the side of her face with streams of red slowly creeping towards the back of her head, as if pulled to sate the gluttonous hunger of some unholy entity. The blood which had dipped to the street did the same, pulled by the same force to slowly drag itself across the stone.

The feminine laugh confirmed the suspicion which had formed in the Champion's mind, and a rare instance of surprise and shock touched her injured features. A hurricane of thoughts swirled about her busy conscience, gritting her teeth in both the pain she was in and the absolute faulty job the Church had done with providing her accurate information. That woman was far more of a threat than both the Gunslinger and the Swordsman, and she could accurately guess what she was. "Tsk, this is..."

She was suddenly drawn from her moment of indulging the demanding attention of her wound and the distinct realization of what the third target actually was by the sudden sound of a forceful crash, stone bursting and wood splintering. It was obvious to the Bloodhound; the swordsman escaped the torrential chaos within the first floor by escaping to the second. It was the only logical explanation. Veronica's head raised to once again focus on the building, her eyes locked on the second story windows. She had braced herself, readying her weary body for combat once again, and then he came forth.

The vision of her remaining eye was clear, and she saw that it was possible to escape the oncoming attack by utilizing her pages to ascend skyward, though she would likely suffer wounds even then from this level of attack in addition to prolonging the battle. The realization of the much larger threat had made her decide that extending her battle with this abomination was no longer something she could afford, and instead she would act in kind to the man's assault with one of her own.

The bible pages still by her side, as those still within the building were too far away to call upon and thus remained swirling within the building for the moment, had been commanded to charge forward in a suicidal pact that's sole purpose was to obscure the vampires vision. Veronica would move with them, hidden by their golden curtain, her exhausted body forced to move at the fastest it could possibly go, with a speed only obtainable by the most dedicated of human origin, propelling her directly toward the falling man's center.

A sword, she had already known, was only useful at a specific range, even when in a close-quarters battle, and that it possessed a weakness in the form of an opening provided during attacks particularly related to the overhead variety, and that was her target. The man's vision would be blinded by the pages, likely making him unable to adjust his blades path to meet the Bloodhound's own, and she exploited it to the best of her ability.

However, as a form of insurance on the vampire being occupied and distracted from her attempts, the glass sphere of holy water would be launched with her pages, obscured by their golden form and aimed directly for his chest, which would likely make noticing it impossible until the last moment. Leading her charge behind it was the stakes clenched within her fingers, driven by the force of her entire body weight, aimed for the same place as the vial of holy water.

Even then she still suffered wounds for her actions, though her swift action mitigated them to moderately deep lacerations upon her shoulder blades which were the product of the being unable to fully escape the very tips of the crescent shaped air blades coming at her from either side, though it was only the tips, the majority of the blades being utterly avoided as it passed behind her. The blade from the overhead strike had suffered the same flaw, flying over her in such a narrow path that her veil was sliced apart and scattered to the wind, along with a few stands of grey hair, but otherwise passing above and behind her without injury.

"AMEN!!"

It was like back at the Boshin War. Charging at the Western armed Japanese forces of the Imperialist faction, deluded into fighting against the Shogunate as if they were going about for a righteous cause that was not the case in their events. Charging against bayonets with but mere swords, and later, with Western armaments of their own, but the Japanese man refused such weapon for he saw it as lacking the skill and thrill needed from seeing the whites in an opponent's eyes. Back when he was with the Shinsengumi, though not a part of them, was still very much a comrade that took in as much part of their operations with as many famed faces such as Hijikata. The French were a part of their holdout against the Imperialist forces as they held out to the bitter end in their Republic...

But those were musing for another time. She had come to elude his attack in a manner that he'd rather have it fatal in its utmost, that perhaps he could partake in a battle with the temptress afar gluttonous in her ravenous appetite or whatever taboo mysticism she partook in, which drew his interest in undoing her as well, but for now, his immediate opponent, the longer she stayed alive, the more she can muster these vast apparition of anathema to his very being that stands in its jaunts intent on undoing him thus. He had decided instead to sheathe his sword once more. Though there was a flaw to the entire plan. He could smell the blood on Veronica still running past her face, having gotten an inclination of a direction as a result, and a full on idea despite lacking sight, he had his nostrils. True, had she not been bleeding, he wouldn't have detected her at all.

He faced the whole pages with a sense of gladness, despite the obscurity, the source of where the nun, the Champion, the light that shines in the darkness, to meet her entire effort with one his own as he had realized not what her intent was, but the very general abstract of it to be offense, and nothing more than that. Instead, as she had taken advantage of the blindness he had from seeing her, he had inversely done the same as a collision was to be imminent and the following had happened to the man, and likewise imparting his own effect.

The pages slammed at his entire form, glass shattered and an eruption of smoke sizzled from his very form. The parchments sticking to him began to redden with his blood as it coated his entire form from the front in paper. The stakes found themselves true with the wet as it drove in to completely penetrate him, with a hole punctured into him from all over his ribs that cracked from the impact, and deep into his lungs, hacking and coughing, as his face remained without parchments. He spat out a gob of blood in one of the coughs at Veronica with a smile.

His blade stuck outward past all that paper, having shredded it as it was not unholy in itself, but merely a blade, a tool. Having taken all that opportunity of blindness, using Veronica's scent to incline its pointed edge with the intent to impale her unto her abdomen with his intention as he had smelt her coming from afar behind the vial.

"Well... played..." He rasped, "Christian... go suckle on the teats of your Church's kind hands... the same that collars you like a dog... but no matter what... KILL that woman... she is hard outside and soft... in....si....de...."

Letting loose the handle of his blade, he'd thwack against the ground and collapse with blood pooling all over him. His eyes stare vacantly into the starless night, and his expression that of peace, sizzling as if being cooked as his skin began to boil with bubbles all over.

Adrenaline had laid a claim to her body during the exchange, consuming all pain and feeling within a bottomless black void of utter nothingness, allowing her to focus with absolute clarity. She had driven her holy instruments of divine punishment through the beasts chest cavity, as was her intent, and with the utterance of final words which held little influence over her current state, he fell to the saturated ground with finality. However, just as the other clashes that she had engaged in with the swordsman, it was not without cost.

The Bloodhound collapsed to her knees in absolute anguish, the adrenaline no longer acting as a simple anesthetic, her right hand clenching her right side and the wound that was made by the abomination's blade. It, like so many others, was deep, but due to the positioning she had taken during the exchange, that being the leading strike with her left hand and stepping into it with her left foot, allowed her body to twist at the waist, thus the blade merely impaled a sliver of her right side, avoiding internal organs and bringing not death, but pain. She was but a human trained to the pinnacle of her mortal capabilities, but with that one simple aspect came with it the blessing of human perseverance.

Blood poured from the lacerations on her back, drenching her clothing even more than the wound that sat upon her features, and now even more of her life fluid seeped from the wound in her abdomen. If she were to continue, the conflict with the remaining abomination would have to be brought to an end as quickly as possible. Prolonging her activity here, in her current state, would only lead to death. That was something she was not willing to accept; not yet, at least. She still had things to accomplish before it was her time.

Rising slowly, the thousands of sheets within the building exploded outward from the very openings they used to enter, swarming the Bloodhound in what could only be considered a concerned flurry. A simple command and they were brought upon her, a page latching onto her side were the stab wound lay, two more placing themselves over those upon her back, and one upon the wounded portion of her face to cover the damaged eye and it's laceration; all of them clenching down with painful pressure to hold back the bleeding, their golden forms becoming saturated with red.

Focusing through the exhaustive pain which now dominated her body's reserves, she quickly took a mental inventory of her remaining supplies. During her battle with both the Gunslinger and the Swordsman, she had lost three of her five containers of silver, one out of four of her vials of holy water, and multiple gospel pages, of which she could estimate being a bible and a half's worth at the very least. The number of her pages she still possessed were not a problem, as one and a half out of four left her with still thousands. It was the lack of other valuable essentials that would force her into an unwelcome predicament.

She took a series of breaths, slow and deep, steadying herself and erasing the feelings of rage that had been brought out by the Swordsman's previous actions as well as to mitigate the pulsating pain. Content, she would turn to face the direction in which she had heard the previous gunshots originate, standing tall with wounds covered tightly, bloody stakes still held firmly between deft fingers, and the amassed sea of pages swirling about her figure as if to repel any unholy influences that may be within the summoned fog, keeping it at bay and ready to carry their mistress to safety upon a reflexive moments notice. "I venture into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, now, for that is the requisite of my servitude to thee; my wages born from the sins I commit in thy name shall be no less than thirty silver shekels, and bring upon me no less than death within the fiery lakes of smoldering brimstone... Bring forth my destined tribulations and I will face them with solace, for thou who watcheth over me art my Lord, and I shall triumph in thy name."

Peaceful respite was but a temporary forthcoming conclusion to the battle that comeuppance as a whole in its occurrence, as the man lay with naught a twitch nor movement, but to be cooked like the underscone of Hell's very grills itself as he had sizzled and his skin began to pop out oozes of flesh and blood alike. His form marred by the very visage of holiness unmaking what his existence should not have been in the places that were denied to him, correcting an incorrigible aberrant and instating what is natural in place of the unnatural supernatural being. Stirring not even a motion to spare for the holy that unmade him as who he was.

But what came about before five blocks now in the direction Veronica inclined to face, and a trail of rubble in the wake of the now obvious source standing out in obscurity, a form large and about twice the size of any building the Parisian streets have to offer as it had stepped about and around with a laughter shrill and twinged with a touch of sadism as yells emerged from every lash she had to offer back, whip-like appendages from ahead in the foggy veil shows a silhouette of a thin-like malleable length careening an unruly destruction in its wake as the thicker vines stood as legs in its countless multitude, sending about houses and other two story buildings that are the make of the entire area to be unmade with but a swipe. Gunshots were growing furious and the yells becoming far more discernible as they were French.

Behind the thick fog of red lays a woman clad in tattered red gown that barely clung to her form that was otherwise humanoid, seemingly resting on a throne of vein-like vines protruding from her back making for sheer quantity that from there, thickens around her as if a protective circular cocoon with but thin slits for sight from her circular rosebed that overlooked all from its skyward gilded seating rife with arrogance, bullets deflecting or embedding into the vines, only to bury inside, and to be spat back out at the lucky armored police officers, as the force lances them through their skull with perfect accuracy. The more unfortunate were pulled upward by her tentacle appendage, and squeezed like orange, leaking out blood in a waterfall downward unto what is akin to a hastily constructed Pentagram directly before her below her rosebed made out of the many gory remains of the citizenry. And even far above her skyward was a vast eye that seemed to occupy the sky as if it was the moon, looking downward in its baleful gaze as it ripples in its apparition, smoky and mirage-like, judging the progress with its inquisitive glare.

"Run, little children of the sun, RUN. There not be a place for you that exists in this realm of man that will harbor you sanctum or shelter, no place of hiding for what storm I shall kindle in kind to your feeble tyranny of the light!" She laughed out with mirth rife in her tone betwixt with arrogance, "Your struggle bears no fruit in the might that is I, as weak as your stomach in the face of darkness that I am, and the death I shall become! Welcome I offer, and equality I bestow. Democracy is to become your bane, life extinguished and spread with distinction none nor efforts all in vain. I, doom-driven and quested with purpose, with wrath unending, will be your salvation in destruction."

Explosions followed, and seemed to only scathe the vines in burns, only to be met with an impaling thrust as the hapless armed Gendarmie saw himself filled with a tentacle that lifted him up in the air, two of them coiling inside him, only to tear from opposite directions, rendering him bifurcated and ripped in half as guts spill downwards, with his upper half, still alive, brought over the protective cocoon to ooze blood that the Blood Mistress drowned herself in, gorging herself gluttonously in his vitae, drinking it with greedy abandon, her skin stained in crimson whole matching the drapery she wore.

The sight presented before the Bloodhound of the True Cross was abysmal. She had no other word for it. The silhouetted monstrosity which soon revealed itself was an abhorrent aberration of what transcended the typical Nosferatu which stalked the night; an anathema to the Monster Slayer which stood before it. The odious creature's hideous visage was one that brought about thoughts of utter disgust and appalling revulsion. The scene as a whole, the creatures grotesque and tentacle covered form, the ominous fog which harkened to it's call for concealment, and the foreboding eye which appeared in the sky above it; all of it reminder her of the ravenous beasts of which were only written about in fiction.

It's power was evident; buildings were bought to ruin by it's powerful appendages, humanity was wrought before it's overwhelming might, and the heavens themselves seemed to be subject to it's atrocious existence. She could not allow this being, this colossal entity who's very existence was a disgrace to her faith and true threat to humanity as a whole, to continue it's self-indulgent ways of atrocious barbarity without penance; it would be subject to divine retribution, and it would be by her hands.

The Champion Monster Slayer, injured as she had become, stepped forward with commanding confidence, her bloodied form unhesitatingly marching toward the very instrument of destruction which had befallen the streets, and she would demand it's attention. The sea of golden pages followed, but contorted in response to the faithful command of their mistress by shooting skyward into a golden pillar which rivaled the Bloody Woman's monstrous form, the bottom of the pillar mere centimeters from her bloodied back to keep with the caution of allowing immediate transportation should it be needed, which it likely would upon gaining the beasts attention.

Two extensions would sprout near the top, leaving only a stump protruding towards the sky to give it's entire shape the form of a titanic cross who's light illuminated everything in the surroundings; a metaphorical beacon of hope to those who were still alive, and a sign of divine intervention for those who had already been consumed by the disgusting atrocity that had been given sentience. Veronica's advance was purposely slow, not only to conserve her what energy reserves her body still possessed, but to allow the golden light to shine for as long as possible; the blessings placed upon them forcing back the summoned fog which was of unholy origin. Accompanying the astonishing display would be the Nun's voice, loud and confident, stalwart and firm, unyielding in her slow advance.

"The Lord is the strength of his people, a fortress of salvation for his anointed ones. The Lord is my light and my salvation— whom will I fear? The Lord is the strength which guides my life; of whom will I be afraid? The Lord delivers and vindicates me; I fear none! The Lord guides my hands to war in his name; I bring death upon his enemies; genocide upon the armies which oppose him; and extermination to those who's very existence is naught but a disgrace upon the Exalted One!" The fingers of her left hand had suddenly been filled with a trio of stakes, arming both her hands with the lethal weapons of divine rage, her arms being brought over her center in which to form a cross at the forearms; her golden eye shining forth through the black veil which had covered her face from the light of the golden cross silhouetting her form. "When the wicked advance against me to devour my soul, it is my enemies and my foes who will stumble and fall! Come to me, creature of intemperance, you who are but a pitiful embodiment of degradation and iniquity! I shall rend your flesh and very being until your ashes are scattered to the four earthly winds and the Stygian soul of your rotting carcass has descended to the depths of the Seven Hells!"

The outside remained a shell of decadent disgusting corpulent mass of red vines as if they were from the veins of someone's blood vessel, from within the cocoon, she appeared most normal if not human-looking, retaining much of her features if not for the smile of sheer disdainful sadism reeking out of her, that none would see the sheer happiness she'd derive upon the expense of all these humans that dared to sally force and fight her. Even as she slaughters the Gendarme that continuously assail her in numerous numbers, even as the vehicles, armored and with turrets on top, were easily crushed with naught even a spared effort aside from the most minimal on her behest. It all merely served to invigorate her with the verboten pleasure of finally fulfilling her lust long suppressed by humanity and whatever they held back in transcendence.

The Gendarme whom stood their ground were clearly distraught as mounds of their bodies in great eviscerated pieces littered the streets before her path of destruction, fearing for their death, and knowing that they will die soon enough. Their morale plummeting by every second as retreat would become inevitable. Their guns proved fruitless, their explosives seem to not even bother the creature, and they can't even risk bombarding Paris with something drastic as the reports were met with disbelief, and at other times, this is STILL the capital city. To risk something like this to the Parisians was to be used as a last resort. For now, the Gendarme held their grounds, but some of them began to back up, ready to flee...

Light grew to such drastic greatness that it cleared where uncertainty was abundant, where fear was virulent, where despair festered. Attention from all parties as if the fighting subsided for but a moment came to turn all affixed at the gigantic Cross and the woman in the middle, shining a light that blurred her form aside from an outline of black all over her. The Gendarme and the remaining forces muttered out in disbelief, military men trained to keep their nerves under cool, found themselves frozen in place. The same could not be said of the sovereign woman controlling her vessel of abyssal malice and all the evil in the world. Her attention turned from behind her cocoon as she watched with sheer amusement, a smile marked her lips to the speech uttered out a defiance from a woman she had seen naught but a gnat in her mind.

"Mon Dieu..." The Gendarme Captain at the frontmost, a survivor from his already dwindling platoon reduced to a paltry number of a squad's amount, stared out in the light, the golden cross radiant with a feeling of ease and comfort, tears welling up in his eyes as he lets a laugh of joy, his chest filled with hope, "C'est Jeanne d'Arc! Elle est venue pour nous sauver dans notre temps de besoin!" Suddenly filled with determination, he points his FAMAS assault rifle in the direction of the foul abomination before them towering all over those Gendarme. "Hommes! Appuyez en avant! Notre défense n'est pas en vain. Soyez courageux, car nous allons gagner contre cette créature maléfique de l'Enfer."

"RAAAAAAAAAH!" All of them shouted in unison, from whatever paltry bullets they had left, resumed their fire with renewed vigour and courage, despite the horrendous casualties they suffered, civilian and armed personnel alike.

Though this display didn't seem to garner even a speck of attention from the Bloody Woman, they were merely seen to her as if pebbles the side of the road, not much of a bother. Her entire cocoon shifts around as if it had a front, and faced Veronica directly. From the slit presented to give her human body residing within view, she had beheld the cross with a face vacant rising with a degree of livid disdain. The eye in the sky mirrors the action of the woman below, and fixates itself at Veronica in attention. Seemingly not bothered by the exercise of futility by the men, brave and persisting, below.

"Spoken false and lurid with delusions unending. Your Lord an apparition of your own make, absent and without presence true. I, real before you, stand testament to your faith unproven. Stilled and without even a shred of truth to it, you are but another blind sheep sent to the wolf that is I. You ask of whom to fear? Fear me. You ask of vindication? You find none here but your entrails hung and strewn, your guts supping my appetite, and your pretty little head kept alive, an eternity of torment awaits." Her smile widens to a toothy grin, not that it can be seen, "I have not the need to answer your summons to one who dares against my right-won conquest, bloodborn and death dealing, deep-counselled, I know your Lord not. But come all the same, if my wrath, you dare withstand. Your death hastened, it matters not to me, for in the end, my whim and my doing are uncontested."

The Champion of the Cross continued her steady advance within her crossed stance, the towering monument of golden purity keeping pace behind her, teeth gritting slightly at the response arrogantly voiced by the wriggling abomination which towered before her, that which was regarded as nothing short of blaspheme and sacrilege. Even still, she had restored hope to those still amongst the living, their rise against that which had torn their ranks asunder empowered the Paladin; invigorating her own determination all the more till it was but a raging fire awaiting to be unleashed upon the darkness which blocked her path; anxious to incinerate that which planted it's unholy roots upon God's earth. The Paladin's voice echoed as she approached, rightfully filled with aggressive authority, her one-eyed gaze burning vividly with defiance of and contempt for the unholy creature set before her.

"Harken to the Lord, O' Defiled One of Black Vines tainted with the blood of those innocence, for he speaks through me with righteous indignation; You who neglected the Rock who begot you and forgot the God who gave you birth, judgement has been spoken from Heavens on High." The arms of the Bloodhound had unfixed from their crossed position, rapidly outstretched to her sides as if placed upon the cross herself, her marching pace subtly increasing as the titanic cross following behind began to shudder. Divine Decree hath ordered of me to become akin to a spear of sacred flames of which to pierce your black heart. Your dark roots which taint the earth shall be incinerated, your tenebrous vines shall be naught but kindling for my wrath, and your blossoms shall be scattered to the divine winds of damnation, for he who sits upon the Throne of Heaven has commanded it!

The Pillar of Pages, that which formed the vibrant cross of monumental proportions and held back the dismal fog of uncertainty, at that exact moment, began to disperse in rapidity; the thousands spreading across the sky like miniature angels, defiant towards both the eye which sat aloft in the skies above and of the towering behemoth which was before them. The dispersal was followed by the final words, uttered mere moments before their speaker, Veronica, was consumed by the portion which made the bottom of the cross and was swept into the sky within the escort of golden bodies, the thousands arching across the sky in vibrant gold trails in which was impossible to determine which held her in their embrace; "For behold, you are but chaff upon this day - the day of your judgement - for which I shall set you ablaze so that it will leave neither root nor branch!"

Amidst the golden sea which swarmed in a multitude of directions, primarily of which was above and around the towering monstrosity that was the Bloody Woman, a salvo of six divine stakes would be launched from one of the streaking snakes of gold, their blessed steel bodies leaving silver trails of their own; spinning rapidly like a drill for they were twisted upon leaving the Nun's fingers. Piercing through the sky with the strength behind them to puncture that of concrete, with their spinning motion allowing even more penetrative power to their already devastating impact, they would take aim towards the slit that acted as a window to the innards that held the Bloody Lady within, as if divine missiles seeking out the hearts covered in darkness in which to cleanse them. Another trio quickly followed it's sextet of sisters from one of the many golden snakes streaking amongst the sky, of which it collided with another swarm and then diverted again into that of two, as if transferring their mistress in order to keep her location unknown.

"You think yourself the only one capable of singing hymns to something non-existent? How very amusing! Two can play at that game. Oh Angra Mainyu, grant me the fire to wage humanity into sullied ravishing, to deflower life out of that virginal existence, and to rid free will from their meat, naught fit for any purpose but for carrion and feasts." She began to rave a wild laughter, her sensory capabilities from the tentacles deprived her of the pleasure of seeing things vivid as they were with eyes on her head, but she was too arrogant otherwise to enclose the slits unless it bothered her so, "And so on and so forth, pontificate as you'd will, little girl. You grow to bore me, and this affair has become... maudlin. This is but another to fathom my dread tyranny."

She, seeing upon the multitude that began to dawn upon the sky, in turn offered her own retort in physical kind. As innumerable as the pages were, just as innumerable those vine-like appendages lashed back, spearing at each one of them, catching flame holy as it was, and yet there were those bottom draining out blood drawn in quarter from the many dead she has slaughtered flowing in the streets, replenishing their strength and keeping them unto lancing at each page, battling and lashing out against them, tearing them asunder, those broken in half, those with a large gaping hole, stuck to a sizzling red veiny length, and a battle ensued between the two. She had simultaneously within her focus, had sent forth appendages below impaling the remaining Gendarme from their skull to crotch, as they drew dry of bodily fluids, paling and atrophying into mummified husks before turning to dust. Their armor and clothes their leftover remain. The lieutenant, the only one alive, fell on his back and gasped. That was the last gunfire as the two entities were the harbinger of the Church, and the Sovereign of Verdant Death.

Of the stakes that were sent forth, it had indeed carved a groove through the slit that were about to obscure its path, and impaled the rosebed walling inches away from the Bloody Woman's head right behind, almost having closely impaled her skull, sizzling through the organic interior. She looked aside with a raised eyebrow, and back to the slits. Closing it as a result of the new found vulnerability. Now how did she knew she existed inside? No matter, it was but another nuisance to rid of.

The screeching of steel held close, five blocks away from the two titanic figures, the nun and the Bloody Woman, rasping and dragging against pavement as a shadow hunched and weary with death looming ever so near like a constant companion ready to bed in a permanent communion, that despite that, the shadow drew closer with every steps towards the battle.

That recent attack had forced her to reconsider making for a more aggressive front, her tentacles multiplied, and speared the houses around, sucking upon their vitae, and likewise those that clashed against her pages, strengthened in constitution and divided. Though burnt, it just as easily regenerated and aimed to dwindle the amount of thousands to something more manageable, and yet not once striking true at the elusive shadow of the Church.

A clash of titanic proportions, that consisting between good and evil, had befallen the ruination that was now Paris; fought in the skies by means of golden streaks of Holy Origin and black blurs of Dark Magic which lashed out at one another with lethal intent. The thousands of Gospel Pages which accompanied the Champion of the Church pressed onward, in spite of the the dozens of their sisters that were immobilized via impalement, the countless others being guided with enough precision to utilize their paper thin bodies and flimsy constitution to avoid similar fates; especially those closest to Veronica herself.

The opening, the slit in which she had targeted first, had closed to render the vulnerability useless, which had only confirmed the thoughts that lingered in the Nun's head, which were reminiscent of the final words which the swordsman had spoken in his dying moments. However, the sole reason for her aiming there was not simply by trusting the word of such a disgusting creature; she had also sensed an entity within, which collaborated with the swordsman's dying words to bring about a truth to be exploited. Hard on the outside, soft on the inside...  

The countless snakes of Golden Divinity continued their mad dance against the countless vines which lashed out, some latching onto lethal spears to deliver their crushing pressure and to bring about flames of harmful intent upon the unholy body, but those that managed to do so, which were few and so little were commanded to take such risks, accomplished little. The damage had been regenerated, and all seemed hopeless in the wake of the abominations sheer size and power. She had to find a way to break through it's hard outer shell, to get within the core to slay that which was controlling it.

She had only one option available to her, but she would not utilize it until confirming another suspicion in which had arisen at the sight of the monstrosity absorbing both the flesh of those it had impaled and the blood drenching the stone. Concealed within one of her golden arcs of pages still streaking about, acutely avoiding any threatening vine-like spears launched at its core, the Nun had retrieved the final two vials of silver that she had not yet used as well as the small container of purification salts, in addition to the three remaining vials of holy water, then opened the lids.

The moment the snake of pages she had collided with another to make an exchange, she had left the vials within the pages of the one she had left before the two snakes broke apart once more. It would scatter the combination of blessed silver, purification salts and holy water that would have been lethal to ordinary beings of supernatural origin, but the point was to not make the woman trapped within bathe in the toxin. The powdered-liquid mixture would merge with the spilt blood upon the ground, and thus be pulled into the creatures wriggling mass to wreak havoc from the inside.

Her thoughts were that it would do very little, but perhaps it would be effective in some way to provide benefit for her.

Additionally, a quartet of the golden pages would break away from one of the countless swarms and speed towards the last of the surviving Gendarme, positioning them upon the ground around him in the shape of a square, in which a holy barrier would be erected around him. It was an attempt to protect the poor fool who had been put in such a cruel situation, but nonetheless it was all she could do without exposing herself to be impaled. Her focus lingered on him for only a second. No, a microsecond, for a second would be too long to ignore the beast before her. If her previous plan bore fruit, then she would proceed with the second stage of attempting to burst through the closed slit. If it did not, then she would be forced to try anyway, for she had no options left.

The Gendarme watched from down below surrounded by the corpses of his comrade, the blood that coated his form down on his back in red dye, his eyes watching in sheer disbelief as he had seen what would normally be considered completely irrational in the rationality of the modern age Baptized in Enlightenment. Impossible creatures, creations, miracles that he didn't think happen occur as much as Armageddon design upon this fair city of his, as his very comrades were drained of blood and turned into naught but dust, this whole situation seemed like a mired dream mixed with a nightmare. Staring at the blur of titanic collision clashing against one another, vines snapping pages, and a woman of black draped by an aura of gold had disappeared into the pages. Perhaps God had seen fit to send one of his Saints downwards to battle this abominable, that in all his years of lacking spirituality, a non-practicing Christian, he had felt a resurgence of fate where reason took to abandon him in his darkest of hours. He forgot to breathe, that he took great gasps of breaths to comprehend what he had watched.

"Oh mon Dieu, mon Seigneur éternel dans le ciel, sauver ma vie... non, sauver Paris de ce mal ultime. S'il vous plaît... mes filles, fils, ils sont sans péché et méritent pas de mourir pour quelque chose d'aussi malveillant." He muttered out in his validation of finally accepting the existence of that which delves beyond the realms of nature itself in worlds supernatural and the true existence of the cosmos as well as her ruler above all, exhaling out in a long drag of air from his lungs, and inhaling again the pungent stench as this had played like a battle between Roland and a being from l'Enfer itself, the Knight of Charlemagne but female embodied throughout her form. He could not make up his mind anymore, everything was murky with sheer disbelief, he had invalidated what he had seen before him, even as the pain came real, even as the fell screams of collision between two unlike forces irritated his ears with tangibility.

The battle to the Bloody Woman had gone with such ease that she had felt it was a dance of attrition that she would end in due time, that it is best not to prolong it. Not as a matter of pragmatism, but out of avaricious hunger for the young, the old, and all in her dominion of terror to extend a long sprawled claw across all over Paris and ascend into realms of a True Nosferatu. To becoming a Princess of Demonic power as she had already felt empowered far beyond that of meager meals she had gorged herself on. She was going to devour the Samurai boy, having made her intention clear multiple times, but it seemed that bratty nun had taken care of her little problem, as she had seen and caught a glance beforehand of a battle from above her behemoth tower of debauched decadence, to see him undone by a mere human. The audacity of his weakness disgusted her that he was undeserving of his vampirism. Hers was already becoming more pronounced, evolving. She was no longer Category B, but A.

"I. Am. POWER INCARNATE. INFINITE IS MY HUNGER, AND SO IS MY SUPREMACY. LICK AT MY HEELS, DREAD MY QUAKE MARCH, AND KNOW DESPAIR THAT WILL CONSUME THIS PATHETIC EXCUSE YOU CALL A NATION. AFTERWARDS, I SHALL DESECRATE YOUR CROSS, ALL YOUR ARTIFACTS, AND RENDER ROME A RUIN UNTO THE GROUND." She laughed out loudly, drunk on the blood drained in rivers from the street. So blinded by imperious arrogance as she had begun to lash out at the largest mass of pages she saw ineffectual against her power, she hadn't foreseen or visualized the becoming trap that though sallied not at her directly, would instead be like water, to lash out at her in the most indirect means, as the concocted ploy the nun had played out no longer resolved on brute force, but the cunning that made many Saints wise in their time. "YOUR ATTEMPTS ARE FUTILITY, DOG OF THE CHURCH, YOUR FESTERING BITCH CUNT WILL FEEL ITSELF BEING TORN APART BY SOMETHING MORE THAN YOUR CHOIR BOYS CAN EVER PROVIDE. I WILL PART YOU IN TWO, AND FEAST. You are but an APPETIZER THAT WILL PROVIDE ZEST AS PARIS SHALL FALL IN A REIGN OF BLOOD. LIKE THEIR REVOLUTION. Oh the sweet cries for justice... such a deluded zeal to give voice to their OWN VICE. HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

And then suddenly, as she was feeling victory, a pang of pain ran throughout her entire naked body, pulsating with veins all over her skin throbbing with black as she breathed for air, her eyes widened in anguish as the putrid purity of holiness coursed through her stomach, her vines weathered into brittle thinness for but a moment as she had fought to rid herself of this digestion. A momentary lapse of strength that was about to be covered by further vines in her front to at least armor herself up despite their new found weakness, to buy time for her to spit out the holiness coursing in digestion and re-assert herself supreme.

"GUH---!?" She rasped out, wheezing out as gluttony in reckless abandon for a feast was interrupted by POISON. POISON brought by this FILTHY WEAKLING.

That was undone as streaks of silver had undone her latest protection in her front with something hard, sharp. A sword. A shape of a man covered in pages soon dissolved afterwards before her into goo. She could recognize any but the wear Oriental and out of place. The fluid barely held in solid mass had leaped upward beforehand as a last dance as a large window of space provided a great swathe of space to enter for from the nun. The sword planted and lodged at the bed of her rosy vines above tattered clothes. The Samurai survived long enough to want to steal a kill and deny the glory to the nun despite being ravaged and straying so close to death's door, but instead, only managed this far, being so close to death already and now undone.

The Gendarme Lieutenant stared in awe as soon his sight was enveloped by a square all around him, and he remained blinded to the action to come.