El Lobo Coraje Magnifico (Mission for Veronica)

"Someone as pathetic as you should have learned your place a long time ago!" Veronica snarled in response to the disembodied voices radiating throughout the mountain interior. The rapid insensitivity of the surrounding scriptural folios drastically increased, straining to propel themselves with more rapidity until they were surging down the cavern as nothing more than a blinding wave of gold illumination, carrying their mistress within. The Bloodhound could sense that the target she had previously decided to obliterate was foolishly approaching, and the thought merely contorted the sadistic Paladin's facial features to reflect utter elation.

The putrid boulder of flesh soon became visible, as if absorbing the very caver around it during it's approach. In the briefest of moments guided by refined reflexes, a sextuplet crucifixion stakes appeared between the firm grasp of the Champion's skillful fingers with the intend of piercing any flesh deemed worthy by their wielder. In addition, mere moments before the blinding wall of illumination that contained Veronica would collide with the rolling amassment of flesh and bone, an equally blinding construction of Faeth would form around the Bloodhound's body in the shape of a transparently blue sphere, thought it was absent of the traditional wording upon it's front.

The Deos Coetui Angelorum had configured itself, an impenetrable barrier of absolute Faeth, designed strictly as the ultimate sword and shield against all things unholy and impure. Leading the ahead of the golden flurry of gospel, containing Veronica within it's protective embrace, she would extend both of her arms with the stakes held firmly forward, the tips of each barely touching the internal aspects of the barrier. She was content, willing the pages to push forward with the utmost extend of their abilities, where she would bore straight through the quantities of flesh presented before her without prejudice.

The sphere would borrow into the fleshy mass with ease, the technique having accelerating the entire mass well into the realms belonging to the supernatural and beyond. Akin to a blessed meteor careening forth with the sole purpose of obliteration, it would rend all that was unholy that made contact with it's encompassing barriers; rejecting, rebuking, and denying their very existence with nothing less than absolute extermination. "I bring you perdition, and I bring you death!"

The blob managed to inhale in the Faeth golden radiance into its form, and as if for a moment, it had managed to fathom and withhold Veronica's illuminated pages that dared to stand against it, the crucifix unable to bore past its fat, thick, syrup-coated hide as it brayed and cried out in sheer agony. It was clear that its face twisted into frustration, that once it used to be something, or rather, someONE, that used to measure some import back in life. Still a human, and yet the vessel it inhabits is far more corroded physically than the untarnished spirituality. In other words, a mercy perhaps, or a sadism when considering the killer in question has imparted such means unto the creature. Despite the momentary absorption that it sapped into itself of Faeth intermixed with Naether, and whatever is shoved into it, the creature, whose mass and weight contesting against Veronica's own momentum as the two are halted, began to bubble.

The smell of rot and necrotic flesh being sizzled filled the air around into a pungent aroma, stinking up the joint with its fill before it left out a pained cry of relief, sighing out its last. A signal to what would ensue as the mass exploded. The stink and the drench not toxic to anything but sensibilities, as well as the smell as stinking blood doused itself on the pages and the inhabitant within, raining and spreading just as well as meat. Whatever Naetheric properties that once dictated its wholesome, dispelled just as easily, as blood rained outwards and all over that Veronica plowed through, threatening to ruin her nun's habit and her pages with the mixture of blood red overall specked with flecks of green.

Nonetheless, the fat blob stood no chance against the braved caped Crusader, as it became readily apparent the mountain's foundation shook and threatened to collapse from a lack of support. It was not a natural structure in rural Spain, as much as the geological make of it were artificial, man-made... or rather, Lupine woman-made in this case. Whatever the merits it held, the overall structure began to lean inwards from the ceiling, as vastness of dirt cried out dusty particles downwards, before great pieces of it fell, crumbling into debris, piece by piece. Some on top of Veronica herself directly, and others apart from behind and ahead as pockets of space were becoming a commodity.

The Night Mistress's presence began to gain distance, but it was hard to leave the Bloodhound's senses, considering how she lit up like a sun in sensation. A beacon to whatever that used Faeth based detection in order to realize the location. The woman herself, a font of Naetheric powers, armored up in illumination, as swirls of circles orbiting around her figure swathed her. She drenched herself into her wolfen form, as the power expenditure built up and hiked, bursting out of the mountain's top to overlook it from the skies, as if a despondent immortal would an impudent mortal below. The symbolism was quite replete.

Raising up her arm as she floated a century in numbers worth of meters above the flattening mountain, several lances swirled around her, and formed up, dividing and gaining multitudes as they spanned akin to spears in length and pointiness, but it was obviously not of mundane creation. She didn't have any remarks when facial expression told much more tales of annoyance, were Veronica to exit the mountain and see her face clearest, even as furry and touted with a snout as it were, expanded, and bigger and yet an automata of destruction ready to unleash itself.

The expeditious momentum that Veronica had amassed before impact with the grotesque amalgamation of flesh had slowed during the clash, if only due to the beast's odd physical properties that allowed it to seemingly withstand the assault in a momentary deadlock. It was certainly an impressive feat, to stand against the might of the strongest Faeth technique that she had devised for the sole purpose of annihilating the malefic creatures that walked the earth, but it only served to further incentivize the Paladin's desire to obliterate the disgusting monstrosity and send it off into the netherworld with a symphony born of it's own anguish.

Exerting even more effort into the lethal charge with a wicked smile torn across red-stained features, the instance that the creature's flesh collapsed against the impeding pressure, the moment that it's resistance faltered against the blatant incursion against it's very essences, was the moment that the properties of Deos Coetui Angelorum once again reasserted themselves into reality. The acceleration that had been temporarily dispersed by the conflicting bodies pushing against once another had instantly returned, allowing the sanguine Bloodhound to bore through the wall of flesh with unnatural speeds that distorted the features of the technique itself into nothing but an undefined blur of motion.

Completely perforating the abomination as an unstoppable spear of blazing azure, blinding gold, and saturated crimson, Veronica had immediately registered the surrounding precariousness of the mountain's internal structure and instantly altered the course of the impetus generated by the technique skyward. She couldn't maintain the Angelorum for much longer, so she was going to make sure and abuse it's defensive properties to the utmost whilst she had the chance. Arching skyward as carried by the pages, which had become bestrewn with dark plashets of gore that would easily be removed during their rapid movements due to the liquid-proof coating that they boasted, Veronica would serpentine in an aerial evasion of the countless falling slabs of stone and rock.

However, it was only after a brief moment that she had realized that far more stone lay above, falling in such a manner that the entire slab that came collapsing inward was far too massive to avoid with such rapid and simple maneuvers. This was the reason why she had kept the Deos Coetui Angelorum active, straining it's duration for the sole purpose of acting as both a shield and battering ram. The surrounding earth and stone, while it may have been purified earlier, still retained residual aspects of Naetheric energy. It was too engrained to completely erase, and while it did prevent further manipulation of the environment by the enemy, it still retained the befouling taint and provided a method that she could abuse to reach relative safety and the goddamn Lycan witch that she sensed was waiting above.

Pushing aside the thrilling thoughts of how she would make the beast suffer, Veronica brandished the six crucifixion stakes that she had previously utilized in tearing through the creature of flesh and, with a blurred fling of each arm, send the sextuplet of streaking steel careening towards the gigantic slab first. Each soaring with enough force and velocity to obliterate solid concrete, they would impact a specifically aimed location in a circular formation, sending countless fissures throughout the solid surface upon their devastating impact. Following this, Veronica's velocity would increase, the blurred smudge of the protective orb around her fading even further from perceivable reality and into pure distortion as she aimed to accomplish the very same tactic that she had previously preformed upon the disgusting anomaly not moments earlier.

Ordinarily, the protective sphere offered little protection to mundane threats, but the aforementioned taint of Naether that still resided within the stone provided a loophole. She would pierce through the weakened stone, shouting with unrestrained effort as the clashing impact finally occurred. The fissured surface and deep seeded cracks that were already present easily gave way under the unrelenting force of the speeding sphere, which moved at supernatural speeds that could easily embarrass the majority of most extramundane creatures, tunneling through the stone and ore as the entire cavern was enveloped within the resulting smoke and dust of the collapse.

Enveloped by the smokescreen, all would seem lost to those peering downwards into the catastrophic implosion that had occurred, as only desolation and destruction would remain of the internal caverns. The loophole, however, was a saving grace for the Paladin. The sphere had recognized the surrounding environment as a malefic construct, and thus allowed absolute defense and rejection of it's taint, which was the only reason why the Bloodhound had managed to survive and bore through the mountain's collapsing interior.

Veronica, bursting forth from the enveloping haze of the incident in a flash the golden luminance bestowed by the scriptural pages, the protective embrace of the sphere being forgotten with it's required and circumscribed limitations, would rise into the skies towards the Night Mistress like an avenging angel of death with sadistic reverence across besmirched features, another sextuplet of crucifixion stakes being instantly procured between the skillful fingers of the monster hunter with blurred movements of the hands, ready to unleash them at a moments notice.

There were no words, for the expression she wore and the intent she harbored palpably spoke of the outcome that she sought. She had been denied release for far too long, and she would extract it now.

And yet she knew, for how she waited, that the blighted being of servile meandering slavery to a patron beyond her that the indifference, perceived or real, came to leave a distaste in her mouth over the view below. Even then she rose, and even then multiplying her crafts of spear-like make whilst the ebbing feeling of growth saturated in a crystalline order of shivering cold irritated her greatly from every hem and wear of her silvery skin. She watched, with those slit-eyeballs ground-wise as she bided her time, each spears in six, adjoined by another six like a revolver's mechanism, rotated around her each, such pointed Naetheric black laced with a hue of red combined their directions with where she faced in a constant, and where she faced was downwards. Each laced with intrinsic numerous embuement in a long dead language, giving pain to whomever gazed into them with much focus, and ultimately irritating those that pay credence to their Faeth. Particularly the distasteful one from the teats of Rome itself.

The mountain grumbled a long, loud roar giving its defiance into the world before flattening, and returning to 'normality' which was more hill-like of dirt, rather than a pride that dared into the skies. With it, came outwards a pimple, a zit popped out of irritating blights, though normally amusing to fondle into hate, came to represent an aspect of hate unto itself to the baleful Mistress of the Night. She stared, ready to mouth off a cackle of hate some more and degrade the nun, only for once more it occurred to her a particular scent hung in the air, an aroma of human musk, heady and needy all the same, her nose perked, her eyebrows rose, and she found herself baffled that the person seemed to actually be under such notions still.

"Of all the things..." She muttered for a moment lowly, her eyes locked on the opposition of thematic dynamics hanging before her in the air right below as a distance was created with an equal speed which kept her spaced from the swirl of contradictions known as a nun, what is meant to be a paragon of humanity's best qualities are instead to the eyes of the lupine being, one that is merely being served on a crutch of sorts, tangled in a tree of vice ambrosia flowing in between those thighs. A scent that pierced her nostrils as the breezy wind did not favour the acute sense of smell from the Night Mistress particularly, not deterring the now two dozen amounts of red barbed spears orbiting around her, facing the same direction, as she faced the nun, readying her own series of actions whilst space of fifty meters was maintained with no lag on her behest.

The height came to elevate her if only a few feet higher than the other, still arrogant to the end as she looked down from the enemy emerging from the mountain, spaced still with no dwindling of distance, if only for some mystery reason as she bided her time. There was a certain gravity to be appreciated when the enemy was before the werewolf, child of nature and predator of the feeble, more feral than refined as is the case of vampires.

"Are you..." Her disbelief bled out of her tone, as the Night Mistress recovered her bearing from the confusion hanging low on her, finally dawning that perhaps the earlier preconceived notions were not out of fear as she earlier thought from the nun, or some cheap thrill, but something as insipid as suffering, not exactly to be expected from a human of all things. "ARE YOU ACTUALLY GETTING OFF ON THIS?!" Finally she asked, frowning mightily. If it were not a battle at this moment, she would be stunned from sheer bafflement, but that wasn't the case. "By the teats of Neto, this is going to be disappointing if you were my end. Undone of all things by the most unlikely individuals? Unlikely... and yet, here you are. Ugh." She snorts.

This self-pep talk of disbelief got off the tension that hung from her, as she recovered from the vertigo of anger, but it was good, it evaporated the blinding rage she had, the lack of coherency dissipating in way of more calculating perception that the Mistress of the Night prided herself on, in spite of being a beast of nature, the enemy, the symptom of an environment that wanted humanity dead. She palms her face, gurgling out a wolfish laughter, yet retaining her animal form lest comedy unravels her to a more human form.

The besmirched grin of sadism that decorated the Bloodhound's features twisted slightly, displaying an obvious acknowledgement and confirmation towards the Night Mistress's baffled inquiry. She was, and had been since the beginning of this pathetic hunt, but those desires had been further denied and forcefully stripped away by the wretched canine that loomed above's interference. The price of such insolence, that being the indulgence of the aforementioned desires, would be exacted from the mongrel's own flesh as penance. She would procure the screams that she so desired to bask within, and she would grasp unto the blissful result that would follow, and there would be absolutely nothing that would stand in the way of it's acquisition.

Disregarding those enthralling thoughts for the moment, Veronica had been observing the unnatural weaponry that danced about the opposite woman's form from the instance she emerged from the carnage below. Gazing upon them brought an irritating agitation upon the Paladin, and that alone betrayed the quality of Naetheric energy that resided within. Nonetheless, it was time to bring an end to this pathetic foreplay once and for all. They had become airborne now, and like many other foolish creatures that dared trespass into this domain, this 'Night Mistress' would soon learn that it belonged to Veronica in it's entirety, for she had claimed the Heaven's above and the Earth below a long time ago, and those that intruded without permission would be the victims to unmerciful cruelty.

A mental command, instantaneous in it's delivery, spurred the thousands of the biblical scripture that surrounded and carried the Bloodhound into further action, the seemingly endless amount suddenly and rapidly coalescing around the pious woman's form into a golden sphere of brilliant illumination. A moment later, the glorious orb would suddenly disperse, splitting apart into several dozen tendrils, each containing the possibility of carrying the Paladin concealed within, but none outwardly betraying such information to those onlookers. These countless tendrils, cutting vibrantly across the darkened sky, would branch apart into multiple directions, swarming towards the abomination that was aloft above them from every conceivable angle, taking extensive measures to conceal their own mistress's location with their intricate masquerades.  

The concealed Huntress, still clutching the sextuplet of crucifixion stakes inbetween skillful fingers that were ready to be loosed with utter sadistic intent, cared absolutely nothing towards the lycanthrope's thoughts, it was only a momentary instance that she required. The twisting, swirling and diving tendrils, each randomly maneuvering across the skyward canvas that effortlessly closed towards their target, should be able to provide such a thing; an opening, minor or significant, she needed only one. This method of approach would also provide ample chance for the recharge requirements of the Deos Coetui Angelorum, which required a noticeable allotment of time before being reused. She held little doubt that it would be needed, especially concerning those peculiar spears that the lycan was brandishing.

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OOC: 2 posts before DCA can be used again.

A full pregnant pause came along as the wind blew, nature coursed its way naturally, and yet the two demented mass murderers stared each other down. The Mistress of the Night no less perplexed by such admission from the nun of all people over such vices, but then again, the fact she broke such low expectations the Night Mistress had in the first place was quite a feat in itself. Truly a vexing trait, and there was no denial either. Just WHAT was going on in her head? And were boundaries truly not something to be considered, and stations especially? The fact that someone who represents the Church came to slay her put up such a... queer display of etiquette to a point that things are as blasé as an uncultured peasant, and at the same time, as impetuous as a haughty noble? Sighing as she realized that this is drawing out long enough, and as much as her murderous intent has been dulled by this moment of estrangement from the new light of information, she still has a nun to kill, and places to be.

She calculated each of those branching tendrils of pages going around in myriads of many flurry of a sea, those of papers drenched in lights holy, and calculated each of them with the sight of hers, and allowed them to span uninterrupted for a moment for the exact duration that they would project themselves into an intended trajectory. Each spears face a distinct direction, akin to a circle with each prong pointed outwards, and more importantly downwards as the nun still remained below in regards to positioning. An arrogant statement in itself to profess unto the nun to the end that the Night Mistress considered this a trifle ultimately, that there was an afterwards to this battle concerning the Lycanthrope, daughter of Lycaon's progeny.

Mentally willing it, each spears streaked across numbering six, in an affixed and perpendicular flower-like formation, leaving behind a light of red behind in their wake in their jet-like speeds. A blur almost incapable of being sighted as it merely brushed into realms that defy the norm of Naether. Passing through the randomness of pages, or more specifically, TOWARDS them, with a trail of Tron-like luminescent lines to colour the path they once trod, downwards. Lancing unto some pages, that the effects were instance, nullifying the special qualities that hold them aloft in its capability, and negating any rise that would be whimmed into floating were they touched, and furthermore spreading like a virus of red, devouring the gold for what spanned separate by a mere 1 meter, had the results been truest shot.

But the Night Mistress seemed not concerned with that, the accuracy of each shots, but rather the formation to its exactness to coincide with an approximation fixation. She darted eyes all around, head turned, and her sensations dawned as she would let the air carry forth the scent of feminine wiles growing irritated by a lack of action, that such was the case of the nuns. As to realize the position of the woman, whilst she herself, the Lycan, rose further upwards as to create the same space as prior between herself and the pages, particularly the nearest ones. The gap that would keep her distinct within 20 meters.

"Fool! Knave! Come! If you're so eager to die for whatever rewards you think you'll receive in the afterlife, then I'll gladly send you to meet your beloved Maker that you so wished you'd meet! And you WON'T be sating whatever thigh-lust that possesses your bosom as a bonus at that!" The Night Mistress bellowed with harshness tinting her tone in a wrongness of sweetness, a paradox that promised death to the Crusader below, as if the distance between Heaven and Earth were a constant, facing each of the tendril as they'd predictably still all seemed to converge towards her. Perhaps soon enough, they'll become one, which would make the process of elimination all the more simpler.

The observative forethought that inevitably prompted the Bloodhound to scatter amongst the skyward canvas had eventually been proven to be the correct course of action. If she hadn't of taken the opportunity to do so, then it would have undoubtedly ended in the most undesirable outcome of a brutal impalement and untimely demise, as demonstrated by the ominously malefic weaponry that had been launched at unnatural speeds by the unholy abomination that created them, which seemed to have an intrinsically detrimental reaction to the Faetheric energies residing within the scriptural pages she held dominion over.

It had been blatantly apparent to the Bloodhound upon seeing those Naetheric constructs that the 'Night Mistress' had been attempting to remove the swarm of Faeth that readily accompanied the pious zealot into any situation, and while it could be brought into question as to whether they were still truly controlled by the influence of Faeth alone, it was not something Veronica was going to easily allow. Thankfully, the Champion Paladin's foresight into the matter, alongside the general caution she took when dealing with these abhorrent creatures and intuitive instinct that had been honed over the countless years of doing so, had prompted a subconscious mental command that was essentially second nature to take immediate action.

This instantly resulted in the scattering of the tendrils that had been targeted, allowing for the vast majority to avoid the detrimental effects that the cursed lances would have imposed upon the Faetheric constructs, which only effected the minor few that were impaled upon each of them, of which numbered in the single digits out of the remaining thousands that still aggressively and randomly swarmed into reforming tendrils with vibrant animosity. Streaming in the most random of interpreted patterns, Veronica remained hidden amongst the countless throngs as they continued their ascent towards the ever-rising target above. One that would, undoubtedly by the Bloodhound's own efforts, become subjected to the very sadistic force that it currently tried to outdistance.

The sadistic grin that was displayed across the besmirched features of the Paladin's countenance grew slight, the vestal woman completely concealed and hidden amongst the illuminating pillars of serpentine forms. The lycanthrope Alpha's statements were extraordinarily amusing. It was behavior worthy of utter derision, the assumption that the beliefs she held reflected those that had become synonymous with the organization she was in servitude too. Truly, this creature knew nothing, and it's attempt to spur forth some kind of reaction based on presumed information that just so happened to be utterly incorrect was worthy of the most severe punishment possible.

Acknowledging this, the instance afterwards cementing the decision, the Bloodhound had mentally decreed that this night would end in only one of two ways. One was with herself dead and ruined, potentially degraded further by the hapless mongrel residing above as some sort of trophy or other means of visual desecration. The other was with this abominable monstrosity serving as the final means to burst the dam that had been forcibly restraining the building elation that resided on the other side within her, acting as the final piece of explosive excitement that would be needed by being crucified upon the surrounding woodland for all to witness.

"Rewards in the afterlife? Hah!" Veronica scoffed with a low chuckle, completely lost within the fervent moment of desire to quell the connate inclinations of seeking satisfaction through sadistic indulgence. The woman's voice becoming indistinct amongst the countless streaking and rising tendrils so as to not betray the specific swarm that she had taken refuge within. "A cruel blade such as I does not seek reward for slaying the foes of it's wielder, regardless of who it may be. It receives it's payment in the blood that it is allowed to blatantly spill, and in the screams and death that follow each of it's unmerciful strokes that drench it's steel in a glorious sanguine sheen!" Veronica clenched the sextuplet of stakes between the fingers in which she held them, the besmirched features that once held the grin of sadism having twisted into something far more honest and with a voice of utmost sincerity. "I am nothing but an Instrument of Incursion, monster. A Harbinger of the End for the malefic species that dare tread upon the path that I am pointed; the forerunner in which only execution follows! I care not for such promised rewards of the extramundane, nor do I ask of any should I arrive at my final destination in due time, from any god that may reside over my passing! No, I receive them on every hunt I engage in, from every one of your kin and more that I exuberantly slaughter!"

It was an instantaneous moment, as the subconscious bidding of the Bloodhound effortlessly commanded the seemingly endless thousands of scripture into action, the entire ocean of golden radiance that had broken into numerous serpentine tendrils suddenly altering their course of movement into a momentary coalescence. The innumerable swarm congealed into that of a massive spherical shape that would still continue to race upwards at it's maximum velocity, bloating outwards to the point of absurdity to continue the concealment of their mistress within, whom had finally become tired of stalling. Suddenly, from out of the golden sphere of giant proportions, the sextuplet of iron crucifixion stakes that had been clasped so tightly between wanting fingers were released with an intensified force.

Breaking forth from the enveloping confines, loosed with such velocity that each of their individual figures would distort into nothing more than a blurred smudge against the backdrop of humanly perceived reality, the six piercing objects of lethally blessed and silver-lined intent would effortlessly close the constant gap that the Night Mistress had been making an effort to maintain. Each of the miniature missiles would be aimed expertly, precisely positioned and accurately placed along an almost inhuman trajectory aligned with various positions upon the body, among them being the head, throat, heart, liver, and knees, each making the strenuous effort to create an opportunity that would ultimately lead to the Alpha's grim cessation by utterly obliterating the area of impact should they find their marks.

And it finally would be made apparent that what the Mistress of the Night had planned out would be unraveled in this stage, cascading downward in a spiral where the audience would be the nun, and the con of the ages would be clearest as crystal. The magic act where direction was implemented, followed by distraction over some barbs that were less than honest to the roots, get the nun to blather on and about, though hasty and fast, had given the Lycanthrope an idea of where she truly may be, that for even as true as her sight may be, the Lycanthrope couldn't sight her correctly given constructs of Faeth were blinding in their illumination. It was not true of her other senses that were found most sharp as a blade, but merely an exception to this rule that made the person she fought an exception in itself, an abberancy in humanity that climbed up the ladders through some means the Lycan considered unnatural, for never an occurrence such as this had happened in the last millennium, without it being saints, but those are mythical, almost obscure as proof that Earth was free for the Fair Folk to start pilfering the terrain.

The spears lodged to the ground began to shimmer in red, as arcs of electrical like sparks form luminescent lines across one another in connections, in winded haste, with the pommels each for those same said spears in the ground began to shimmer with electrical red. Something was brewing, and the Night Mistress bided on such chances to tender to such things. The pages were numerous, and scattered, with a direction, she could tear apart the enemy, but this is guerilla warfare in its finest element dispersing to actually make her withdraw her accuracy towards a scattershot. In itself, not a bad idea, but a pain to the Lycan woman of purer lineage.

She would soon smile, self-assured of victory as suddenly a barrier, or more accurately, a field, of sheer red, began to expand outwards in a sudden pillar that encompassed the general diameter ignoring height of most of the pages, as she was confident this would bring out the weed that was the Sister of the Church. The general field swallowed up whatever came in its swathe as its reaction was almost instantaneous, in any normal circumstances, this would definitely be a victory, but the moment of arrogance had blinded the Night Mistress as she relied on each scriptures to follow her trail, which is simply upwards, unable to keep an eye on all of them, but nonetheless spaced enough not to be harmed.

Alas, this were not the case as the sheer arrogance she had thought herself in conduct came at a price -- the stakes that were thrown were not acknowledged immediately. It originated from a spot, which she labored a gaze towards in a chanced look, only to see it far too late, but this was not over, NOT YET. Not as the field would envelop the area around her, barring the few straggling papers in the vicinity in general intent, would ascertain as to swallow as the pillar of negating Naether that would render all Faeth useless reached up to the stratosphere, accepting reach towards the bloated mass in a containment as it would pull all in a gravity unto the Earth in a tether that'd remind all not to rely most on Naether.

Though it flickered as the Night Mistress, for all her speed and reaction, easily could have had dodged this attack, found two of the stakes finding their mark true albeit in an eschewed manner, and the rest, with artful grace of a dancer, contorting in a shape of a backward bend that'd see them fly overhead her, with one that has grazed her knee that struck her, and the other having lodged itself in the fleshiest part of her left calf as a result. Suddenly, her armor began to waver wildly, and she plummeted self-same as any Faetheric construct that if caught in the field surrounding her, would too freefall, as her speed picked up towards tantamount speeds as the rot already began to claim her, weakened and her concentration wavering in a pang of pain.

Reaching for the stake, she would try to pull it out, but her hand began to fail her with non-response, vigor robbed, and her pace beginning to go at a dive bombing Stuka's velocity to the ground. The G factor threatened to render her unconscious, but even as wounded as she was, all she had were the whispers of sleep, as she flew past any pages that would try to hit her, in fact, they would, if in her path, easily slap against her flesh as the armor required concentration to maintain. Concentration she did not HAVE. Concentration she LACKED. The user's focus being most important of all in need for such Naetheric powers.

This was the beginning of the end, and the Mistress of the Night wondered how things could have went differently, if she had utilized her strongest assets from the beginning, that perhaps the circumstance would be different... that she would stand to gloat over a defeated nun, to ravage her entrails out and devour her guts, that instead... the reverse would probably entail the true outcome. Why hath she been so blind with delusions of grandeur?

The incessant resourcefulness of this exasperating malapert had become infuriatingly vexatious to the Bloodhound, especially with regards to the most recent instance of more abhorrent Naether proposing yet another obstacle to overcome before indulging in the hedonistic motivations that had been impelling the Champion since the beginning. In truth, this abominable monstrosity's capabilities with the blasphemous arts had become just as irksome as the creature itself, and given the beneficial situation that had presented itself being ripe for exploitation, the Bloodhound saw it as an opportunity to destroy both the lycathrope and it's beloved abilities at the same time.

Even before the sanguine pillar from below reached into the skyward canvas, the hedonistic Paladin had divulged the source of it's radix and immediately decided upon a course of action. Revealing another sextuplet of crucifixion stakes between skillful fingers, Veronica would suddenly torque to the side as gravity began to assert it's dominion over both the Faetheric Scripture and those whom danced about the sky, coming into a singular spin to alter the bodily position she previously held. In the midst of the rotation, the sextuplet would be released in a destructive salvo of blurred velocity that would reach the earth in mere moments and destructive force more than sufficient to shatter solid concrete.

Each of the lethal missiles, while unblessed now due to the petty Naetheric barrier, would still follow an expertly placed trajectory to impact over half of the malefic spears that lay below with an unfathomable impact that would utterly destroy their targets. Seeing as how the spears acted as the originating source of the cursed Naether technique that dared annul the influential forces of Faeth, their destruction would likely ensure the restored application of Faetheric techniques immediately upon their removal and thus, would only subject the Bloodhound to a few moments of a temporary plummet.

Coming out of the aerial rotation to once again face the now wounded Lycanthrope whom had also began to succumb to the natural forces, and silver that laced the edged of the stake now embedded into it's flesh, Veronica's thoughts once again turned towards it's absolute obliteration and the inevitable satisfaction that would result in it's end. A mental command would echo after a few moments of falling, having waited for the impacts to occur below, calling forth the powers of surrounding scriptures that would once again illuminate the sky with their glorious radiance of gold that would rapidly envelop the Bloodhound and disperse into multiple tendrils in much the same manner as the previously used tactic.

However, this was not purely a diversive tactic, as while each of the tendrils were used to conceal the Paladin within, each of them darted skyward towards the sides of falling lycan, where they would congeal once again into a spherical mass. What would follow would not be iron stakes of crucifixion, but an enveloping azure radiance from within the golden mass. The entire sea of pages would cascade towards the Lycan that would now be falling below them, peeling away their own layers to reveal Veronica, protectively clad within the embrace of Deos Coetui Angelorum that had began to be literally propelled downwards at meteoric speeds surpassing that of most supernatural creatures, in addition to the beneficial aid of gravity.

This time, upon it's frontal surface of transparent azure and outline of vibrant yellow, would be the words, "God Lives in Heaven" decoratively written across it.

Spearing towards the lycanthrope with unparallelled movement, appearing even to supernatural eyes as nothing but a streaking comet of yellow-shrouded azure, Veronica fully intended to force the entirety of her strongest technique into the lycan without mercy. The natural repulsive and intrinsically divine properties of the technique would not only sear of flesh from the very bone of supernatural and magical entities, such as the target, but also naturally repel them with an undeniably bone-rending force, both effects of which would occur on contract. Combining the two aspects alongside the current circumstances, the resulting impact with the ground that the Night Mistress would receive should ultimately result with yet more destruction to the surrounding landscape, the beast's brutal death, and the satisfying release that Veronica sought, of which was now on the verge of painstakingly exploding.  

I shall ride you into the very earth and carve my satisfaction from your corpse!"