Future of Calamity [Under Rewrite]

Chapter 39 - Last to Fall

The sky was heavy.

Click, click...

The repetitious clacking of boots met slab stone. Far above, the dregs of moonlight withered under the disturbed slumber of its accompanying celestial partner; the clouds paling in the fading black. And to duet the escapade of this soon-to-be ending night, the Empyrean's Throne stared down the advancing group beneath its reigning arches.

The pounding of a drum rang her ears - badum-badum - was the heart's melody. Slow and methodic, yet blared with intensity. Her golden gaze was centered on the growing entryway of this renowned temple above, and the flow of steps below seemed endless. Upwards, the menagerie marched, wisps of hard exhales on the wind of their breathing. Velvet's form ached with anticipation, the daemonic blood pumping to a boil at the final goal only minutes away. No more did it yearn for the flesh of those at her side in this air - poisoned by his presence. Artorias awaited them.

The constant stairway came to a halt. But still, it was only an open median space, and the mountain of steps climbed ever onwards. She grunted under a breath, and the group maneuvered forth still. However, one member in particular did not reign in their complaints.

"...You gotta be kidding me..." the man mumbled with a weary look and scratch of his neck. "Who designed this monstrosity of a temple?"

Sarid's childish, while valid, mutterings greeted their ears with his sighs and moping. His lungs worked the hardest of them all.

"Aww, poor Barloc..." came the prancing taunts of the Witch aside. "He can battle hordes of ferocious beasts, but can't summon the strength to handle a few steps?" The cackling mockery continued from the trudging Magilou, despite her own figure slumped with fatigue.

"Ah yes, because you work so hard to dance around and fire off your cheap magic tricks," the half-malak retorted with agitated slump of his shoulders. "Just busted my backside trying to kill a code red myself, bloody magician..."

"Oh hear, hear! Who, I ask, would have been dead without us?"

Suddenly, the low grumble of the daemoness stomping up front silenced the bickering; "Quiet." Velvet, once brooding in focused silence, turned a sharp eye to the weary Hunter behind. "You're lucky I don't cut you up and eat you for all your irritating whining."

Sarid blew off the threat - knowingly half-hearted - and crossed his arms to stare down the beast with a lidded look. "And you're lucky I hadn't gutted, flayed and turned you into shoes, wolfy." A whistle from a neighbouring Samurai broke the tension between the two, as her bandaged limb waved off the blunt retort.

"He won't go easy on us just because you are tired."

"And let me guess, I also have to hear how 'I'm a vile traitor to humanity' as he carves me into hamburger." And still, the half-malak continued, form matted in dirt and bruises with complete dismay at who's heels he was set on tailing this arduous journey. "Great Empyreans, this is getting on my nerves..." Sarid's arms sat to his hips as he scoured the devastated mass below. And soon enough, violet pearls clocked the decapitated head of a particular beast: paled and withered on the grassland floor. It's deceptive hundred eyes were glazed and soulless, settled next to the remains of one kunai; one of six. His teeth abruptly grit with an upheaving annoyance at the gruel sight, of the shredded daemon: Argus.

"I wish I could fucking kill you twice!"

Silence. The caws of a raven blossomed as an omen to the dead night.

"Oh my, when did such a noble knight like you get so vulgar?"

The Hunter's lips drew a thin line, before he sighed and began to trek past the still group; crest billowing in the dreadful winds. "When my life became a living hell because of you all."