"Whether you bow to the gods or abandon them, it does not truly matter if you are strong. I became the greatest king by being strong, and by being strongest, I shall leave your pathetic faithlessness in the dust!"
Perfect teeth ground together in a rage too great for any man to abate.
"You… you
cur."
"What is the name of the song of the sandstorm?!"
"The rattling of dust on an empty breeze!"
A sword of such power, such magnitude of rending force shot through the air so that the very space through which it passed was torn apart. It had no name and it needed none, for it was one of the many treasures that belonged only to the greatest of heroes. It slammed against the tornado and forced from it to emerge the face of the Sphinx, seeking it's true nature continent-tearer's mighty visage.
In the instant after it's own destruction, three more followed, then twelve, then thirty, then eighty, then a hundred and more poured from the Gate of Babylon, that treasury that held the highest of places in legend, the golden glow that spread from each of its many portals visible from all corners of the city on this snowy night. Each weapon that shrieked and howled as it rent the very curtain of night that passed between the two kings, one the lesser, the other, every man's greater.
The Sphinx, great though it was, could not hold against the relentless barrage that the God-King unleashed, and spun with quiet force, its wrath abated before the power of the King. Part of it could be held to the fact that Ramesses's Reality Marble was not at full power, yet, in truth, it would be most deserving to attribute this might to the man - no, the Golden Hero that stood upon the hilt of a sword, regarding Ramesses in the air.
His visage was a mask of Death itself as he looked upon the one who claimed himself to be the greatest of kings, a silence filling the air and stealing away the breath of all who looked on. The tension in the air was such that a single movement would cut through it like a knife and sever the rope that held them still.
The King of Heroes spoke, and in speaking, bade all who stood there to listen, his own focus solely on Ramesses.
"…Know, liar, false of face and deeds, that you stand before the Original King, Gilgamesh, the first and greatest. I will not hold with the slander that you paint upon me, and yourself. The greatest? You are but a child, sculpting triangles from sand. The worth of a King is measured in more than temples and structures, stonemason."
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Amelia sat on a swing, dressed in long jeens and a jacket with scarf to keep her warm in the snow, softly going back and forth. Around the park parents were telling their kids who were playing in the newly falling snow to stay away from the odd girl on the swing, who looked to be in her late teens.
But Amelia was unaware of anything, simply deep in thought about the events of the last night. She did not LIKE to kill, but it had to be done. Magic as evil, it corrupts people and causes suffering. Why couldn’t that nice woman understand that?
“Why doesn’t anyone understand” She softly mumbled, as she looked at the sky as she slowly swung back and forth.
Soft snow crunched underneath his boots, leaving a marked trail behind the man as he approached the girl on the swings. He had noticed the parents moving their children away from the teenager, and taken pity on her. He passed almost silently through the falling snow, the brim of his hat drawn low over his eyes. The eternal wanderer stood silently beside her, in a moment of solidarity, before speaking.
"Hello, mi-"
"Are you like me?"
What.There was too much confusion within this space for his liking. The swing set that the girl was sitting on was in the air and on the ground, followed moments after by a small boy -
a great sickness set upon by Pestilence, the scourge of man, yet drawn from the deepest of the wells by man himself - tumbling past Wanderer, blowing both his coat and snow by as the sickness landed upon the ground of the alley he had passed only moments prior.
“Oh my god, I AM SO SORRY.” Then then began to bow, constantly apologizing. “I didn’t mean to throw you like that. B-but you were causing a scene. You shouldn’t cause a scene like that, ITS BAD.” She ended in a slightly panicked yelling; it was obvious she was unsure about how to handle this situation.
A single hand held itself out in front of her as the cowboy (flame trapped in human form) walked slowly up from behind her, motioning for the teen to wait a moment. He gave her a quick smile.
"It's all right, miss. He seems more resilient than you might expect."
With that being said, he approached the sickness cautiously, one hand held out to the side where it might grasp upon the hilt of an invisible sword, or within reach of the shotgun strapped to his back. He knelt down on the ground, his coat pooling around him, and regarded the boy with his eyes, his strange eyes that shifted color from one moment to the next, first blue than green than brown than blue again, cycling through colors fast enough that they almost seemed to blur into a myriad form.
"...Are you ...quite alright?"
----------------------
As the last remnants of the parasite burned away, leaving the skin beneath burned black from fire rather than the twisted black of the parasite, Karna's hand left Lucas' arm, fire dissipating like he had turned off the gas to a Bunsen burner.
"I am curing him of his parasidic problem, of course. This is naturally the quickest way to take care of it. Are there any issues with it? I understand your concern, but he can clearly take it and then some."
Lucas stirred as the parasite burned itself out of his body, his arm knitting itself back together as fast as the fire burned it. Twitching, the redhead weakly opened his golden eyes and took in the people surrounding him. He focused on the only two he knew, the blonde teenager and the tall, white-haired man, before sinking back into the infirmary bed. With a hiss, Lucas began to move his other arm, the bone audibly splintering as it cracked against the rebar embedded in it.
Giving up on moving it for now, the redhead looked at the crowd surrounding his bed one more time.
"...You need ...more plants."
Closing his eyes, the surly, pale-skinned man muttered a word that might almost have been interpreted as thanks.
