9505/Path of Glory: All Kings Shall Fall (2)

Path of Glory: All Kings Shall Fall (2)
Date of Scene:	06 January 2022
Location:	Midtown
Synopsis:	The Battle with the Vanguard of the Hosts almost ends in victory but a rebolstering of the enemy pushes the defense force to retreat at the last moment.
Cast of Characters:	Bruce Wayne, Zatanna Zatara, Sara Pezzini, Tim Drake, Phoebe Beacon, Johnny Blaze, Chas Chandler, Michael Demiurgos
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

---

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The Epiphany had arrived with an explosive measure of divine light and force minutes ago. Fifty-thousand strong of the angelic army have appeared over Manhattan and spread out over the city. Initial damages could probably be measured with nine figures. But that was simply the start. Once the initial rush had pushed out, two primary contingents form over the vicinty of Saint Patrick's Cathedral. Among the contingents is their leader Michael, Archangel and General of the Host.

    He is resplendent in his gold plate, his mismatched wings flapping with forceful bursts to keep him in the air. At his side is his sword, sheathed. In his right hand is a spear, the head gleaming with divine light. In his left, is a shield. There is a strange dullness to the shield that makes it stand out against everything else that screamed divinity with the being. He speaks to a pair of six winged, fire encased, multi-eyed beings: Seraphim. "They will be here soon. Be ready. I will divide myself and see that I am with both of you but I entrust you to see that the lessers are engaged properly. Even with the strange energy that affected you all--we will still have the upper hand. I entrust you to do what you will in keeping with our Purpose. Glory for Our Father."

    Once the commands are given, Michael simply divides. Instead of one being in his place there are now two.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Batman arrived before dawn, taking up a defensive position in Midtown. The rooftop of One Vanderbilt had been converted for his purposes - the tallest skyscraper in Midtown affording him a clear view of Manhattan's beating heart. Overhead the Batplane circles at high altitude, acting as a mobile combat information center to analyze information through the Batcomputer and relay it directly to the HUDs of those members of the Firm operating in Manhattan now.

The Bat himself is outfitted differently. Gone is his usual armor, replaced with something strangely archaic in its appearance. Chainmail and black plate fitted over modern Kevlar/Nomex wave and form-fitting ceramic. The chainmail hangs torn and loose in some places, suggesting great age despite looking well-maintained. The eyes of his cowl glow their eerie white as he looks north to the angelic and their bastion at the Cathedral.

"This isn't a street fight," comes the Bat's voice, stern and commanding over comms, "They're acting with military precision. There's tactics and strategy at play here. Converge on the offensive point here."

Heads-up displays and handheld feeds indicate a position at Madison Avenue and 51st Street.

"Marking potential fall back positions alpha through phi. I'll make the call."

The Bat cracks his knuckles in his gauntlets, feeling the odd weight of them. Newly manufactured for the specific purpose of fighting angels. He steps to the ledge.

"Give 'em hell."

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
A mixture of the archaic and the new, Zatanna has traded fishnet stockings for black mylar in the form of chain mail that falls to her knees, covered by a shining breastplate of embossed steel reinforced with spells to resist angelic attacks. A mail cowl covers her raven hair. All of it a last-minute conjuring to meet the oncoming host.

As the grey towers of St. Patrick's take on form and glow with the light of the rising sun, a storm rushes into the City, the sound of a multitude of angel wings reverberating through the street.

<"Copy that, Batman. May they join their rebel brother's dominion."> the magician acknowledges only somewhat self-consciously, used to a more freewheeling style among the other magic wielders.

<"Porting now."> She draws a glowing purple line in the air, gestures to it for the others to precede her then steps through last to find herself in a strangely abandoned street empty of people and taxis.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
By mid-afternoon Sara had already armored up and the Witchblade had taken up a position atop a skyscraper not far from Batman. With the communication device from him, she was tuned in to listen to the chatter and ready for the coming army. She had no idea who was lead, or if Witchblade would actually listen to them, but they were ready. The two souls were one tonight, no hesitation in sharing, no pause it knowing what was coming and what had to be done.

The armor that covered her entire body gleamed golden in the early morning light, indication of the threat level offered in the fact that not a single piece of her flesh showed. Even the helmet and mask were are more solid then most would have ever seen before, and the golden wings of the armor spread out behind her. In her left hand was a massive shield with the same intricate pattern as the gauntlet, and Witchblade's favorite bastard sword was held in the right gauntleted hand. The red stone on the back of the gauntlet was a flaming red eye open to the world, ready to watch the arrival of the host.

As the angels appear in the sky, Michael's words flow through the helmet, translated by Witchblade and then she watches the Archangel split into two. Even as one becomes two, she drops of the edge of the skyscraper and the wings catch her to hold her aloft.

<"Witchblade will be engaging Michael," she offers over the comm, her voice deeper than usual."> And then she lifts herself further in the air to begin her approach toward the Michael's. One will likely break off, that will hopefully leave her the other one. The Witchblade has just one goal today, and Sara is happy to oblige.

Tim Drake has posed:
    This morning, the Dark Knight has a shadow of his own. Despite Red Robin's propensity for throwing himself into danger--and he'd argue vehemently that it's all based on calculated risk--he tends to favor form-fitting armor that allows him a maximum range of motion. Right now, however, he's augmented what was already a new suit with heavier plating and reinforcements at the joints. More Red Hood than Nightwing, basically.

    Especially with the grey and black focus of the new suit. Though with the hood attached to his cape and the sword hanging from his utility belt, it reads a little bit like Robin, too. Though Tim's still got a couple of inches on Damian.

    He's hardly looked up from the holographic display projected above his left gauntlet since they touched down. This isn't the typical street gang turf war that he's used to, after all. This is an invasion, and if they're going to battle, they need strategists. That's why Tim's here.

    The Roost's computing power is currently being leveraged to run several simultaneous simulations based on the intelligence they've gathered so far. He's also keeping up constant communication between the various groups assembled, as best he can. Some aren't the type for teamwork. Some just plainly aren't able to keep in contact.

    Not surprising. It's war, and war is messy.

    "Why couldn't one of the cosmologies that just have us all supported on the back of a giant turtle won out?" he gripes, but there's an undercurrent of quiet concern beneath his usual snark.

    After a moment, he rolls his neck lightly, then nods at Zatanna. Through the portal he goes.

    ...

    Down on street-level, it feels like the apocalypse has already happened. His cape swirls around his feet as wind carves through the empty skyscraper valleys of the city. "<<Getting word from the other team that the Archivist is attempting to engage Michael with speechcraft. Let's hope he leveled it up high enough.>>"

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe has early memories of No Man's Land, and the year spent watching the city she called home from a separate island. She recalled seeing wreckage, something that seemed so far away now.

    Now? A new city, new wreckage, and as Heaven's host wheels about in the skies and settling alongside buildings as their armies take to Manhattan. No one was to be spared. Her armor was mirrored from Red Robin's own, hooded and in grays, with the Rod of Asclepius on her shoulder, her red gloves over her hands. "Stay close" she whispers to Red Robin, and gives a wan smile to him.

    Sandalphon told her to fight without mercy.

    She had arrived with Zatanna, skidding in on the pavement in her 'Battle Boots'. Her knives were at her side, and she utters a soft mumble: "Pater - humerum meum despiciat et me adiuvet ut his cunnae incendatur."

    And then she tightens her gloves etched with her fire invocation, makes sure she's got a frame with Chas's face on it in her pocket.

    And the first thing she does upon landing is raise up her hands and yell out in that Liverpool-stained Latin "Omnia ante me luce ure!" -- a glut of golden-red fire errupting from her hands as she pushes for an opening volly to give the others the chance to progress forward.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
*VROOOOOOOOOM!*

The sound of the hellcycle roars to life as Johnny Blaze arrives to cancel the apocalypse. He's dressed in his black leathers, reinforced with hits of black iron armor, in addition to the black iron of the hellfire chain that's wrapped about his chest. "Ready." And he's teleported with Zatanna's spell, by simply driving through it.

As soon as he lands, Johnny howls in a cry of pain as his flesh dissipates from his body as his form is wreathed in hellfire, leaving only the bones of the Ghost Rider atop a demonic-looking bike.

"Making an opening."

The voice of the Ghost Rider is akin to the deepest, most vile sound that could be uttered. It is as if a whisper,yet the whisper of doom. With those words, the Rider brandishes the chain, the links bursting into flame as the engine of the Hellcycle ignites and bursts forward.

If Ghost Rider has his way, he'll intend to cut swaths into the enemy forces and help serve as a spear point into enemy lines.

There will be Vengeance.

"Vengeance is mine."

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Even as Jon attempts to dispell the combat before it starts this group moves forward. The front line soldiers of the Battalion (for that is what it is) consists of mostly humanoid figures with armor, spears, and swords. They all have a single set of wings and a binding of some form over their eyes. They should be blind but the move into formation as Phoebe's flame pours forth. The first ranks simply are no more. Reduced to embers with vague phantomlights billowing where the forms were before they too fade.

    As more move into take their place they are met with the flaming chain of Ghost Rider. There is flash of light and sound as Hellfire meets Divinity and more angels evaporate out of existence. Still more move forward, intent of engaging those who dare oppose their goal.

    As the spearpoint makes it's presence known four figures lower from the sky and focus on the group below. Concentric rings covered in eyes, spin about a central eyeball of vivid blue. There is whine and simultaneously four laser beams of golden light pour from the central eyes and begin to cut a swath across the street towards the oncoming forces.

    Michael watches the force moving in and nods then his eyes fall on Batman and Witchblade falling from the sky. "Good. I was hoping to find opponents worth mention to test my own merit against." His shield moves into place and his spear is held ready as he waits for them to come to him.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
"<If words were going to work,>" Batman growls into his comms, "<We wouldn't be here. Don't let your guard down and get ready to engage the enemy. We don't know if these things can die, but you have leave to find out.>"

That's his headspace, it seems. The Batman without mercy or restraint. None of his appointed Family had ever seen him like this. It was a demon he buried decades ago in his first years under the cowl, baptized in a font of blood to a symphony of cracking bone. The criminal parasites of Gotham suffered greatly in those hellfire days, but he'd softened over time. Learned to raise a family. Discovered that the best measure was not always the fullest.

Now the demon steps forward. Forged from man, clad in dawning shadow and a brutal chill. He swoops down from on high, thirty something floors passing by in an instant before his cape catches the breeze.

Then he flies. Out over the rooftops, gliding between them. It isn't Gotham. He can't feel his place through the heartbeat of the city. Can't taste the air and name the street he's on. But he's studied the battle plan, he's memorized the map. Now is the time.

The Witchblade's plan is noted and a channel opened to the artificial intelligence currently piloting the Batplane high above: "Monitor engagement with Witchblade and Hostile-One. Analyze for weakness. Monitor Witchblade's vital signs and alert me to aberrations. Go."

As the Dark Knight comes to at the front lines, he wastes no time. He wades into the rank-and-file of the angelic battalion, seeking nothing less than to tear them apart.

"Fire on marked hostiles!" he calls into his comm as an automated surface-to-air missile array stationed atop the Saks Fifth Avenue lets fly a barrage at the many-eyed angels.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Zatanna hesitates no more, galvanized by the fury she feels boiling off of Batman. Phoebe's blast puts paid to them having parlay. Zee raises a hand as the heat from the first blast washes over the group.

!su dleihS, she commands. And a two-way shield impervious to lasers opaques the sky above them.

Both hands lifted in front of her, the homo magi transforms a lamp post into a spear to throw at the furthest eye to the left. Dead center, meant to blind.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Throughout Sara's two years with the Witchblade, only once was she ever truly challenged. A powerful demon drawn to children had her hunting him through the streets in the skin he wore that made him look human. Even then the armor had protected her from all damage the creature had dealt out. That was the blessing of the armor, it made her stronger, faster, more enduring, she could fly, and when fully armored, took no damage... so far.

As she approached Michael, the sword in her right hand became a spear to allow her the same reach that the Archangel had, her skill with the weapon the same as any melee weapon. She held the shield before her, to use a battering ram if it was needed, but her flight was aiming her right at him to engage. Talking would do not good, they had tried that, and Witchblade was out for angelic blood.

Tim Drake has posed:
    It isn't until his boots touch concrete that Red Robin unsheathes the sword at his hip. There's no ring of metal on metal (that's just in movies), nor does it immediately set aflame. Which is admittedly a little disappointing. It does however exude the malevolent energy of the curse set upon its blade, no longer concealed thanks to the incantations of the Battalion's resident magi.

    Even Tim, with no inherent magical sense of his own, feels vaguely uneasy holding it. Though the curse remains focused on the person that "acquired" it for Tim, rather than Tim himself. At least for now.

    He'll deal with the consequences of it all after, once they've made sure that the world isn't going to be overrun by angelic beings.

    Once the first wave has been obliterated by Balm's flames, Red Robin steps forward, though he's halted briefly by the roar of the Ghost Rider's bike. "<<This guy down here is talking about vengeance,>>" he notes. Then, off-comms, he adds, "That's our thing. He's stealing our thing."

    But Tim's certainly not going to turn down additional manpower. Or firepower. Or, in this instance, firemanpower.

    His attitude changes as the blade in his hands slices through angelic flesh. It's an ingrained habit, to quip, one that is especially brought out by Batman's presence, even in the skies above. But this Batman isn't one that Tim has seen since he was a young teen, after Jason's death.

    ...And maybe not even then.

    There are still rumors about the Bat from his first days in Gotham, when Tim himself was only a baby. Ones that he'd have trouble believing if not for the terror with which they are uttered. But this is another consequence that will have to be ignored until the Heavenly Host has been dealt with. A problem for tomorrow, if it comes.

    His eyes lift behind his domino mask to acknowledge Zatanna's shield above them, just before he throws himself at another angel, sword-edge catching the morning sunlight. He keeps to Phoebe's right, close enough that one step would put them within arm's length. He attacks with measured intensity, darting in to overwhelm groupings that cluster together with a quick horizontal slash before he retreats out of reach.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    There's a voice that crackles in Phoebe's ear as she ducks down, close to Zatanna and Red Robin. Red Robin dashes out with the sword and slash, keeping to his left as the edge catches the light, and she watches angels turn to ash, feels the crashing of the power against Zatanna's shield and the pitched cries of the missiles above as they take on the wheels of eyes, Ezekiel's angels. "Jon's talks have broke down -- Fight like the World Depends on it!"

    Her hands come up, baring additional shields to the sides of them to momentarily halt other blows from nearby foes, and then follows in Tim's wake, bringing her hands up, feeling them fill with heat and light as her domino's eyes flicker from white to blue to filter, and with force she comes down, trying to buffet away the angels with the blindings over their eyes.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
A howl breached the air.

Angels vaporize in the fire of the damned, even as spears attempt to pierce the Rider, they miss the bones and instead hit only cloth or just armor. What was fearsome is the sound coming from the Rider as he whips a chain towards a tall building as he pulled into a drift. "HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!" Zarathos had arrived. Johnny had been shoved into the back seat.

The motorcycle drove forth as the Rider breathed hellfire in a wide arch like a wave, attempting to flood the Hosts before the creature in demonic fire...but there is a chance the angelic legions may have a defense. What's worse is that Zarathos's vengeance is blind as the creature looks up towards Michael.

"Deceiver.....you have upset the balance of this world. There will be gnashing of teeth." Ghost Rider howls once more as the Hellcycle roars.

There is no mercy and no room for faith. Yet the angels must fall first. The sheep must be fed to the wolves.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    As the Batman falls amongst one of the platoon, his strikes carry a bell like quality that is as much felt as it is heard with each hit. And the angels fall... but not without a fight. Swords and spears flash and dance among the Bat's armor but it holds, for the moment. Smoke points curling from composite armor. It takes only a handful of seconds but when it is over--forty of the lesser angels are down dispersing into fae lights before fading from the field.

    A cacophonous roar and the smell of a charnel house rises from the other side of the Cathedral as something wicked emerges from its slumber.

    As the lasers intercept the homo magi's shield there the smell of ozone in the air and lazer and shield both vanish in a cancellation of energies. Missiles hurtle through the air toward the biblically accurate manifestations. The first of the volleys strike one of the many eyed, laser firing creatures... and erradicates it. The others manage to move from the line of fire, sending their purers away into hopefully evacuated buildings. The spear that Zatana fashion slams upon the spinning rings protecting the central eye but even that seems to be enough to damage the creature beyond the will to fight as it falls and fades from the field in a dazzling corruscation of golden St. Elmos fire. Two down, two to go, as more lasers flare out toward the first two of the spear: Phoebe and the Ghost Rider.

    There is a flash of Power in the skies above as Michael engages the Witchblade. Spear locks with spear and shield presses shield as they test their strength against one another. Warrior. I was there at your birth you know? I watched as Atum broke a part of his soul and crafted it into a form he felt worthy of protecting Gaea from the Old Gods. However, I have tested Atum's might... and I know I am far, far stronger." His shoulders swell with increased stregth as he begins to overpower the Protector of Gaea.

    Tim and Phoebe's combined assualt and defense tears into another platoon, but it comes at a cost. One of the lessers, manages a quick strike and lands a shallow cut across the Red Robin's shoulder. The cut itself is not bad but the skin around it blisters and sizzles violently.

    More lesser forces fall at the violent rampage of the Ghost Rider. But then one of the multi-winged and multi-eyed seraphs intercept him and with hands of burning holy flame they strike out at the avatar of Zarathos. Enochian words pour from their mouth in a hum of unintelligible speech as they strike at him faster than the eye can see.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Fight like the World depends on it.

"<It does.>"

Batman seems at home in the heart of the fray. Around him, these lesser angels are torn asunder as each strike of his fists tolls that invisible bell. They evaporate into formless fire under his assault, shoulders heaving with the effort of battle but his strength of will unfaltering and peerless

"<Overwatch, begin attack run.>"

High above, a series of 25 milimeter cannons emerge from the underside of the Batplane in its holding pattern. It adjusts its heading before letting loose, explosive rounds peppering the pavement up and down 51st Street in an effort to strike at the gathered angelic forces there.

Just as the shooting begins, Batman launches himself skyward with his grappling gun. He swings deftly through the air, dangling from a stony outcropping and scanning the battlefield.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Mayhem to the left of her, murder to the right, Zatanna is caught up in the middle (again) of the infernal momentum of the Bat Family.

Up ahead she catches a glimpse of the Witchblade joining battle with Michael then loses sight of them in the smoke rising high from the street.

Red Robin cuts swathes through the ranks when a lesser angel darts out to flank him. Another joins him, stepping in front of her. The municipality loses another lamp post to the fray as she magically rips it from the street and hurls it at her attacker.

She throws another two-way shield up, different than the first. Water from a hydrant becomes a wall pushing back the oncoming troops giving Phoebe time to tend to Red Robin.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
The laugh that rolls from The Witchblade is a mixture of Sara and The Witchblade. It is likely that Michael is stronger, that head to head he could over power The Witchblade, but it would not be an easy win for him. Everything that was inside of Sara and Witchblade would be used against him, even if it meant her own death. That was the debate inside, the two souls accepting that Sara very well may end up sacrificing herself to distract this Michael, to hold him back from the other's fighting below.

"You were at his birth," she hisses at Michael, eyes flashing behind the mask of the helmet. "You may even have seen mine... but what you fail to realize, is that together, we're more than Gaea's protector. Together, we protect /this/ world from any who would try to harm it. And we fight dirty..."

There was more to Witchblade than melee weapons and armor, Sara had only recently learned about his healing, but what came to her mind now actually made her laugh again. "This is for Cael," she hisses and then spear disappears to free her hand and from that hand, aiming right into Michael's face, an energy blast of Gaea's fire.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The two Outsiders present, Gotham-based but used to working outside their home turf, stick together. At the center of the area they fight to keep clear is Zatanna, a mystical gravity well that they orbit around, neither drifting too far away nor coming back in close. It keeps them under the aegis of whatever defensive magic Zatanna might cast without asking her to extend her reach.

    Besides. They're both more used to fighting in tight corners: underground bases, back alleys, the hallways of cruise ships (on one memorable occasion).

    Whatever malignant energy imbued into the sword Red Robin wields cuts through angels like butter. It's not Tim's weapon of choice--far from it, given its lethality--but he's gone through training all the same, and it serves him well now. Though not well enough to keep his blood from being the first spilled here.

    His next breath comes out as a hiss, but it's the only obvious sign of the pain that has his brain briefly whiting out. Thankfully his instincts and reflexes carry on in that intervening moment, until Tim pushes the pain down and replaces it with jaw-tightening determination.

    They're going to survive this. He'll do anything it takes to make sure of it.

    "<<A Hell Lord just dropped an undead army on Michael,>>" Tim reports as he tucks his uninjured shoulder down, momentum flowing into a roll that gets him a few feet of clear space. The grapple gun is lifted from his hip as he comes back to his feet, and he fires a line at Phoebe that circles around her and pulls her out of the way of an incoming beam of laser fire that etches a zig-zag mark across the cement.

    Just in time, the wall of water that Zatanna brings forth stops the encroaching angels from surging in after the smoke clears from the beam.

    Red Robin tosses a few concussive grenades over the wall to aid the efforts of pushing them back. Around them, explosions from the Batplane above rain down, though for the moment they're safe.

    As safe as you can be in the middle of an active warzone, at least.

    "We good?" he calls out to the defenders on the street. Tim isn't tracking the fight between the Witchblade and Michael, nor is he attempting to find the imposing silhouette of Batman up above. Right now his focus is down here.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm reads the damage on her HUD as Tim's shoulder gets sliced. She breathes out, and she t urns to regard the oncoming laser, zagging along the street and melting pavement. She opens her eyes wide, hearing that a Hell Lord dropped an army on Mikey on the next street over. The hair on the back of her neck rises up as the shields grow again, and reads the oncoming grapple line.

    She relaxes, and then leaps as she's tugged backwards, tensing as she's returned to his side.

    "Give 'em Hell, Hope." she mutters quietly, and then she focuses in the moment of safety they have.

    Her eyes glow with light as she crosses her arms, bringing her palms outwards, her fingers splayed. She hovers a few inches above the ground as she utters Old Words, before Latin was the Lengua Prima of the Church.

    She opens herself more to her Light, and below her the octogram of the transposed squares, Hieretic script outlining it matching her words, she calls forth a circle of protection and healing -- give Red Robin a moment to breathe, and try to fix that shoulder and its bubbling, blistered flesh.

    They hurt Tim.

    She feels new, raw anger bubbling up inside of her.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Seraphim.

How troublesome. The Ghost Rider senses the mystic energies coming his way, even as they strike him in the chest and send him sailing towards the base of a building. The holy flame strike and strike hard. Yet...while the Ghost Rider lays there motionless, there is a question that must be asked.

The Creator created the heavens and the earth. Lucifer was thrown into the lake of fire, which could not exist without creation. Therefore, is hellish flame known as sin, by its very nature, divine?

The fire burns in Ghost Rider's eyes as Johnny and Zarathos awaken in harmony, reviving the gestalt as if it had been playing Possum. Tge chain is shipped from the Rider to try and wrap around the Seraphim.

"GET OVER HERE!"
<<GET OVER HERE>>

The Ghost Rider speaks in two voices as he tries to yank in self towards the Seraphim. Why you might ask? Because if the Rider touches him, he's gonna rip that bastard in half with his bare hands.

But that's assuming the Rider can reach him at all...or if he must carve through legion first. The Ghost Rider roars out a battle cry, even as embers and ash and brimstone exit his mouth.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Angels fall in double digits from the onslaught of bullets from the batplane, only to be replaced by more forces. The newly joined figures emerging carry rifles of an almost science fiction bend. Blue beams of divine plasma lance out at the defenders from the artillery force of the angelic army.

    The fire catches Michael full in the face and he disengages. As the smoke clears, there is an angry red scar that lingers on his face for a moment before golden light cascades over it and he is pure once more. "Ingenuity is a fine trait in humanity. A pity it matters not." He bolts forth with speed that borders on scientific impossibility and shield bashes the armored figure. The force is tremendous, a thunderclap of impact, and the Witchblade is sent into a nearby building which subsequently collapses in on the armored Protector. He scans the field and his eyes focus on the hanging Batman. He starts for the Dark Knight, aggression evident in his posture. "You pulse with a spark of the divine. I am curious as to how one such as you bears such a relic. I will take it from your corpse when we are done."

    It seems water was the way to go as the projectiles from the long range fighters strike the wall and scatter across the particles in a web of almost electric paths. But still the moment that water fades they will be pinned.

    The seraph and the Ghost Rider meet somewhere in the middle and the wave of power that blossoms from their meeting shockwaves out around them clearinig a field of battle. Hellish vengeance meets divine purpose as hellfire grapples with holy fire. The sight of it is magnificent. White and blue wars with orange and red engulfing both figures as a ball of terrifying conflict.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
The Dark Knight simply hangs from the stony, one forearm raised in front of him as he half-attempts to defend himself. There's nowhere else for him to go at the moment, pinned against the wall as the angelic forces throng the street below. His cape is in shreds, no chance of gliding now. It seems all he can do against Michael's approach is defend himself from a position of weakness.

"That's right," Batman hisses through clenched, bared teeth as his eyes lock with Michael's across the distance, "Come on, you bastard. Come on."

As Michael nears, Gotham's Guardian holds his own. His nerve is hardened steel, not flinching or seeking to dodge as the Archangel approaches. It isn't until Michael is right on top of him that he simply let's go of the parapet, plunging towards the street. In his place is an angry black square stuck to the parapet with some sort of adhesive. It blinks once and explodes, crumbling the side of the building in a ball of concussive force that he attempts to leave the General right in the middle of.

He's falling now, though. He reaches out, catching a flagpole with both hands and letting out a pained grunt. He uses the momentum to change his angle, half-flying and half-falling through the air as he practically flings himself to safety. The blast has rendered one whole side of the building gone, and the Batman hits the ground with a pained thud in what was once an upscale office.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
The healing light directed at Tim spills around the young magician in a golden aura to Zatanna's sight. Refreshing as sunlight after a storm, she has yet to see her draw so much light in all her time with Phoebe.

Michael's threat to Batman thunders through the air above their heads. The mage looks up, ready to cast a shield but canny in battle Batman drops before using her magic.

Phoebe grabs her attention, the pulse of light now surging toward danger. "Phoebe, pull back!"she beseeches.

At Michael's appearance above them the homo magi's instinct is to protect the ones she loves. She casts the most powerful shield she knows; arcana passed through multiple generations, stretching back to Atlantis. Chanting in the ancient language, Nishentag Atlantigsag, protect these warriors from harm)]" she cries in a voice ringing above the din of the fray.

Golden pentangles spring in the air over the street, sharp-edged, harder than adamant or diamonds, reaching as high as Batman arching over them.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
There is no time to react to Michael's slam, no time to make any comments, but the red mark was enough of a reward to Sara even if it healed. Taking the full brunt of the shield bash against the armor there is a moment of surprise as she feels something through it. Slammed into a building, through the wall, and then having the building come down on her, she is instantly aware of the broken ribs, how many she couldn't tell. They would heal, but it was the first time she had experienced that much actual damage through the armor.

Over all, the armor did it's job, protected her body from taking too much damage when slammed /through/ the building, continued to protect her against further damage of being buried beneath it the weight of it. She remained alive and mostly unbroken, and began the process of trying to dig herself out. The battle still raged out there, and she would not be dismissed to easily.

<"I'm fine," she breaths out over the comms. "Mostly fine... have to dig out... do not waste time on me..."> That's enough, they know she's not dead at least, and she needed to focus her strength, through the pain, on getting the hell out if she could.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The bubbling blisters on Red Robin's skin slowly shrink into nothingness. The reddened burn fades. His armor is still compromised, freshly healed skin and the ripped edges of his undersuit visible, but the clench of his jaw loosens.

    "Thanks."

    That's all the conversation they have time for now. Balm's shining Light has knitted him back together but it's also made her a beacon amongst the Heavenly Host, making her a target.

    Tim won't let any of them get close enough to try.

    He lets out a screech of fury as he throws himself bodily at the angelic infantry bearing down on them, sword leading the way. He cuts a wide swath with it, brings it back only momentarily to block a hit aimed for his head, then drives it downwards diagonally against another attacker.

    "<<Witchblade's down!>>" He announces for the Archivist's sake, across the Outsiders frequency. "<<Any of that undead army headed our way? We could use some backup!>>"

    What's happening overhead continues on without Tim realizing for longer than it would in any other circumstance, but his focus has honed in tight on the hostiles surrounding the group down at street level. It isn't until half of a nearby building proceeds to collapse right in front of him that he looks up, catching a last glimpse of Batman falling into it.

    And Tim nearly gives in. To the urge to aim a grapple line up there and go after him, put himself in-between Michael and the man who is, by all rights, more of a father to him than his flesh and blood father ever was.

    That hesitation nearly gets him gutted.

    He falls backwards away from the attack, twists it into a very sloppy tumble at the last second, and lobs a frantic concussive grenade behind himself to ward off any potential backstabs.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Balm can feel the healing energies and light radiating from her body, like golden waves, slowly becoming a tumultuous sea. Red Robin and Zatanna, nearest to her, may pick up over the smell of blood and burnt feathers the scent of roses and black pepper, with the citrusy tang that accompanies Phoebe's magic when cast from The Light. It pushes against her ribs, her repaired aura barely holding it in. A rush of blood past her ears, adreniline coursing through her veins. Her eyes are alight with rose-gold, her fingertips trailing the light. The brilliance of The Ghost Rider and The Host's combat momentarily outshines her presence on the field.

    But Tim presses forward. And she follows the man who if he told her to jump, she would with the absolute faith his plan included catching her.

    She feels the concussive grenade wave around her, dividing by her own force as she manifests her staff of light, her voice echoing, reverberating as she tries to balance the amount of magic she is allowing to flow through her body without breaking it apart. She can't pull back.

    Her heart is aching, and from beneath her domino, tears begin to draw down her cheeks. She swings her staff as if it were a long blade -- or a scythe -- to reap whatever stands in her way.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
*KRAKATHOOOOOOOM!*

The impact of Ghost Rider meeting the Seraphim in the match of heaven's gates and hell's flames is a sight to behold. They clear out a field of battle around themselves as the ball of magnificent energy exchanges and combats one another. Theological, conceptual opposites, the Ghost Rider is somehow holding ground against the Seraphim. Flames erupt like some kind of geological event, even as they trade blows and enter a contest of strength with one another.

Yet the Rider feels something. Or rather, senses something. The Witchblade is downed, or at least he thinks it's the witchblade. And his eyes catch the Archangel himself, Michael, doing battle with the Dark Knight. Even as it appears to be that the group is on the ropes, they are fighting hard, and the Rider is no exception.

So, in a stunning turn of events, the Rider intends to punch the Seraphim in the face with an attempted uppercut swing, only to try further to grab the angelic being by one of it's faces, another hand for a leg and calls out to the Archangel in a voice that the whole city could hear as the Rider explodes into flame.

"MIIIICHAAAAAEEEEELLLL!!!"

The Rider attempts to rip the Seraphim clean in half, even as the mystical energies of the Ghost Rider seem to literally skyrocket, increasing his physical capabilities, such as his strenght, by leagues. His Quarry was Michael...and the Rider will march forward to meet him once this Seraphim is ripped apart. If this Seraphim is ripped apart. Let's hope for the best. But, the Archangel is by -far- the most dangerous presence on the field. And he will know pain like he has never experienced before.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    The building falls upon the Archangel, his form lost in the dust and debris that consumes the side of the building. There is a shrieking sound and Michael appears before Batman. He looks angry. "You arrogant worm. You think that the creations of man can truly harm that which created all things?" He kicks at Batman, the blow by most accounts would send the man flying across island and into the Atlantic Ocean.

    But it doesn't.

    It hurts, Michael's strength is incredible. But the artifact that Batman carries is incredible in its own right. The Dark Knight radiates his own light and Michael hisses as the Cross of the Nazarene imbues his foe. "The Martyr's Cross..." he hisses in what might be the closest he can get to fear.

    More angels fall from Tim but they extract another blow of their own in nearly evicerating him. It was enough and they go flying from the concussion grenade, only to be consumed by the Primordial Light that is Phoebe's Staff.

    There is a screech of defiance and the angelic hosts turn to be met with a squadron of the army of Lady Death. Another Seraph flies into view and speaks a command, forcing the platoons to meet with the dead to a stalemate.

    The Seraphim loses its war with the Avatar of Vengeance and is truly torn in two in a spray of blood, fire, and light. The two halves turn grey as they splatter to the ground.

    A beam of golden light appears from the other side of the church and thunder rolls from overhead. Could something worse than what is already here be coming?

Bruce Wayne has posed:
The Bat shifts to the side, lifting a knee to block the kick from striking his vitals. Given the Archangel's speed, it's a defensive concession - he's not quick enough to move out of Michael's way without opening himself up to a worse attack. It catches him and he grunts, shifting back into a defensive stance but remarkably keeping his feet.

"It's been a long time since I read the catechism," Batman answers, holding up one gauntlet and releasing a switch that shows something contained within a transparent capsule built into the glove itself - a shard of petrified wood, "But this was made by men."

"Now," Batman speaks up, raising to his full height and squaring his shoulders as a rivulet of blood trickles from his broken lip, "Time to show you some more of that human ingenuity."

He darts forward, quick. For all his injuries he should have trouble standing, yet he moves as though he were fresh to the fight. A fade to one side is coupled with a sweeping kick towards the Archangel's lower limbs, fists as the same time seeking out sensitive kidneys to send a quick one-two barrage of punches in their direction.

He fights like a demon. Fitting, when the opponent is an angel.

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Another rank of angels descend on them while above them Batman and Michael battle. Zatanna can feel the power of the relic that Batmsn carries.

She rips yet another lamp post from the street slashing her hand downward as she commands it to liquefy into molten gouts of fury aimed at the the phalanx that charges them, hoping to use the battle above as distraction.

Coughing at the dense dust settling from Sara's plunge into the side of a building and Batman's explosive trap, the protective spell above them falters.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
Deep breaths into the lungs, despite the pressure of the rubble on top of her and then the might and strength of the Witchblade reaches pinnacle. The anger that flows through him exceeds anything Sara has ever felt before and in that moment she gives over to him, allowing herself to be shoved into the background.

He is in control.

In an explosion of fire and light, Witchblade bursts up and out of the shattered building, spinning in the air to spray off the bits that try to remain connected to the armor. Then the wings spring out to stop him descending back to the earth as behind the mask flaming red eyes can be seen instead of the usual blue eyes, and they are searching.

"We are not finished!" He bellows, the voice not at all Sara's in fact there is only a slight feminine tone to it at all.

Tim Drake has posed:
    The distraction has earned Red Robin a slice across his abdominals that cuts deep into muscle, but stops short of actively disembowling him. It's the kind of injury that takes a moment to register, and Tim's already on the move when it does. But Balm's healing aura wraps around him, immediately beginning to knit flesh back together.

    So he's able to power through it. He bleeds, but it doesn't show on the dark colors of his armor. The system in his suit has already called in an automatic supply drop from the base camp above, as Tim uses the last of his concussive grenades to knock back a foe advancing on Zatanna from behind.

    Usually when he's on patrol, when you're out, you're out. Desperate times, though.

    From down the street, finally Lady Death's forces arrive to contest the Heavenly Host here, under the duplicate Michael's watchful eye. There's no way for Tim to know precisely what is happening up above where Bruce and Michael are facing off, but he has to assume that Batman came prepared.

    He has to. Tim can't afford another sloppy misstep like that.

    Right now he can only hope the Ghost Rider's hellfire and the re-emerging Witchblade's rage will help stop Michael. Hope, and try not to die in the interim.

    "I guess I wasn't actually expecting an army of zombies," he muses to himself as the angelic army turns to meet the undead horde. But it provides an opportunity for them to push forward while their enemies are distracted, Phoebe's Light a devastating area of attack and Tim's sword a potent weapon each time he ventures outside the bounds of his best friend's aura to bring down another foe beyond its reach.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    You have to ease off.

    I have this under control.

    Witchblade already is losing control! Easy peasy lemon squeazy.

    Breathing out, Phoebe's knees nearly buckle as she tries to reign in the light, and she advances behind Tim, trailing rosy-gold light in her wake.

    She is not out of flashbangs and smokebomps. She pulls the pouch from her pack and giving a sharp whistle she gives the pouch a toss to Red Robin. Her aura is tightened up now, no longer in strong waves, but ebbing tide as she continues to watch his back, even as the dead errupt from the streets, and she reaches for his shoulder.

    "Stay close!" she hisses breathlessly, now back to pushing herself physically instead of magically.

    At least she doesn't have to worry about her heart exploding and killing her bestie, that would be bad!

Johnny Blaze has posed:
Witchblade isn't the only one coming to give Batman some backup.

After ripping the Seraphim in half and drinking in the blood, light, and fire that hangs in the air in front of him, the Rider jumps down to his bike with a thunderous impact, mounting the devilish mechanical construction and with a roaring engine, the Ghost Rider uses the chain to whip up alongside a building to gain some leverage over the situation, shattering glass and massacring the hard stone and concrete composing the structure.

When Ghost Rider sees Michael and comes into range, the Personification of Vengeance leaps from his bike, using his chain once again to try and yank himself over to where the Archangel does battle against the Dark Knight of Gotham, fists raised as his power grows even further, exponentionally. He intends to bring them both overhead atop Michael, hopefully striking the Archangel hard enoug hto bury him into the earth.

...if he can even hit him at all.

The Rider roars its fury towards Michael as the heat from the Rider grows beyond the 666 degree heat.

Chas Chandler has posed:
    Michael jerks and weaves like a trained boxer himself. But the Batman is more experienced in this sort of fight. The Archangel gets a few hits in but takes far too many in response and the hits from The Dark Knight start to draw blood from the archangel. Witchblade's emergence in anger distracts him long enough for the Bat to clip him across his jaw, it would be a knockout blow on a mortal, but Michael isn't mortal instead it draws a spray of angelic blood.

    The motlen gouts of metal rain down on the angelic hosts and they being to lose in the pincher attack of the Dead Army and the trio of heroes. The cherubim artilerists fall as whisps of feathers when the molten metal and concussion grenades rend them from their physical shells.

    Their is another flash and the sky on the other side of the building turn golden as something massive explodes. Moments later a thunderous roar and a shockwave passes over the field of battle. Stardust rains down upon the field from the sky and where they had been dead angels, new entities rise in their place. Not new entities, the same once retruned from the edge of destuction. The angelic forces strength seems to redouble and they push back some of the Dead Army. And the trio of Tim, Zatanna, and Phoebe find themselves in the midst of a pincher attack all of sudden.

    In the fight with the Batman the hellish chain sinks into Michael's flesh and he screams in agony as he arches his back in pain. Cracks appear over his flesh and he bursts into shards of light and fire sending both the Ghost Rider and the Batman from the office building to the ground below.

Bruce Wayne has posed:
Batman is brutal in his attack. There's no doubt that if he were holding anything back, the Archangel may well have gotten the upper hand. He cannot help but grin with a sense of vindictive glee as his strike across Michael's jaw forces him to bleed. He falls back to shield his eyes from the light, listening the crackle of voices in his earpiece.

"<Fall back to Defensive Point Gamma. All of you. Now.>"

He doesn't take the time to argue. He uses the burst of light to disappear, tracking back through the ruined building and out the other side. He's already on his way, bound for the makeshift war room atop One Vanderbilt.

"<Portals, Zatanna!>"

Zatanna Zatara has posed:
Weary is an understatement. The Atlantean spell had drained the homo magi to the point her vision begins to blur. The stench of death and damaged buildings clog her senses. Her ears ring from the flashbangs thrown at close range; she doesn't complain. Better than being stabbed by an angel.

Witchblade and Johnny Blaze intervene in Batman's face off with the Angel. The clash above them defies physics and all the laws of nature.

Zatanna takes a deep breath that she instantly regrets, content that Phoebe's light is under control and that Tim is healed, yet again.

The flash, heat, and wind blowing over them is reminiscent of a nuke. Through the ringing in her ears, she barely catches Batman's command.

Mustering her strength. the mage slashes a glowing line through the air and steps back, yelling too loudly, "Phoebe, Tim, now!" She is right behind them after one more wincing glance upward.

Sara Pezzini has posed:
If there was any sense of Sara the order to fall back might have actually been listened to, there might even be a response, however The Witchblade has control right now and the anger that emanates from him is like wave of the ocean... never ending. He cared little for the orders of a little mortal man, his rage and thirst for violence was all that mattered.

Michael may have exploded into light and fire, but there were other angelic targets below, and even more as the numbers are revitalized and risen again. With a bellow in a language long forgotten, a sword appears in each of the hands he controls and he dives from the sky toward the host below. He needed blood, to see it spray, to coat the armor over his wielder's body, to bath the swords in. If it couldn't be Michael's, he'd settle for what lie below.

"So many left to destroy, Ghost Rider," he calls out, not aware it's also going over the comms. Witchblade doesn't care about that sort of thing. "Join me in the slaughter!"

Tim Drake has posed:
    From one second to the next they go from flanking the enemy to being surrounded on all sides. Tim snatches the thrown pouch from Phoebe to replenish his supply, but they're as good as dead if they stay where they are. Though as Red Robin goes to unhook the grapple gun from his belt, an angel gets in too close and takes a swipe at him.

    He has to bring his hand back up to reinforce the block. And then he's forced back into the perimeter of Balm's aura by another attack, though Tim immediately pushes forward again.

    If they're getting out of here it won't be his doing.

    So the only thing left for Red Robin to do is to buy them time while someone else solves the problem. It's not the kind of position he likes to be in, but with his head still ringing from the cacophony of light and noise from above, blood pumping in his ears, it feels like his only option.

    So Tim moves. He leaps out from the relative safety of Phoebe's Light, the cursed sword held aloft. It comes down upon his nearest foe, and as his boots hit the ground he rebounds, kicking another angel away before he slashes at one more.

    The call to fall back from the Archivist across comms doesn't even register. Batman's voice cuts through the static, but Red Robin only chances a glance up, brow furrowed.

    It's Zatanna's voice, so close and so loud, that causes Tim to stumble, his grip on the sword faltering. But at this point, someone's going to have to physically drag him through that portal.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "... they're... returning?" Phoebe gasps out, watching as more idential groups return -- and when the explosion wrecks through the sky, bringing her arms up to shield her eyes from star-dust. For a moment she's lost. She feels her heart sink, and desperately wanted to lock away the feeling of ebbing hope -- but Tim moves. She catches the movement, and she calls out to him.

    She takes a blade to her side. It bites through the armor, and blisters her, but she springs forward. Her arms wrap around Tim's waist.

    "No, no, no, not losing you, not now, not ever. You fed me, you're stuck with me." she murmurs through tears, talking into his ear over the concussive blasts of angels around them exploding in the sky, the cries of the armies of the undead, trying to push humor as she tries to drag the heavier, physically stronger outsider -- but she hugs him, and she pulls him back with her into the portals.

    She has so much healing she'll have to do through the night.

Johnny Blaze has posed:
So close.

Yet so far away.

Ghost Rider's chain enters Michael's back, but his physical form seems to explode before the Rider can even begin to attempt to stop this process. The blinding light and fire blast near-point blank upon Ghost Rider, who flies off of the building and impacts the ground -hard- below. A single moment passes where the Rider seems to be buried before a hand rips out of the rubble, followed by the rest of the skeletal monsterosity.

Zarathos wants to fight. Wants to make these angels bleed regardless of their number, arrogantly believing they can win any battle - he might even be right - but Johnny is unwilling to risk innocent lives. In a battle of wills, Johnny rips Zarathos from control and puts himself back in the driver seat. They are surrounded by the enemy, and something that he seems to notice is Witchblade wishing to stand and fight.

But Johnny knows better. "Pezzini. Innocent." He whispers, and with his chain, attempts to wrap it around Witchblade and literally toss her/him into the portal! There will be other fights, and with Michael free from his physical form? He just became far more powerful.

and Johnny would prefer a plan of attack rather than going balls to walls.

So, Ghost Rider attempts to escape through Zatanna's portal!