RAGE stoked her primal instincts at the sight of yet another one of her force lost, and it should have been preventable... that's what hurt her the most. Exploiting the killer's momentary lack of concentration as he tried to remove the blade he'd been impaled with, the dazzling captain launched herself in his direction, on him in but a moment. Realising just how costly his mistake was, he flapped his wings, trying fervently to take to the air. But to no avail. Amelia Battlehard had gotten right up close and personal, too close in fact to launch any kind of magical attack. Panic stricken, the monster's head flailed about in an attempt to head butt his surprise attacker, but the thoroughly riled Captain had other ideas entirely. With one swift kick that totally blew apart his kneecap, Amelia Battlehard gave in to the unthinkable, knowing that she had to finish things fast. Ignoring the howls of agony she'd just induced, just a little afraid of the repercussions of what she was about to do, her jaws opened as wide as dragonly possible and, moving them either side of her enemy's neck, she clamped down with all her might, rallying against the stomach-churning urge to be sick. As needle sharp, pointed teeth carved through scale, bone, cartilage and muscle, her will dissolved. Pulling back, having not quite severed the dragon's head from its body, a foaming brown nausea spewed everywhere. Shaking her giant jaws from side to side, ridding herself of the last of it, watching the monster of a corpse crash to the ground, the shaken but not stirred captain launched herself back into the air, once again taking up her place up above the circle, urging her comrades to close ranks and tighten up, all the time looking to protect them from above.
Earth's surface. Salisbridge, United Kingdom.
It wasn't what you knew, or who you knew, it was what you knew about who you knew, and that had never been more obvious than when applied to what was happening here today.
Under the watchful eye of the cathedral's magnificent, ancient spire some way off in the distance, vast, heavy machinery had been brought in to clear the huge amount of rubble that covered the enormous sports club site. Over the last few days, against all odds, working around the clock, they'd done all of it. It had been a heroic effort by everyone involved, but then it should have been, given the extraordinary amount of money they were all being paid, courtesy of the man financing the whole rebuilding effort... Al Garrett. In reality, it should have been impossible to get all this done in such a short time frame, but in Salisbridge, Garrett was THE man, and if he wanted something done, generally he got his wish In this case his connections on the city and county council paid dividends, most of them owing him huge favours, with one particular councillor having to be reminded of a certain dubious incident that involved a notorious madam, adult nappies, an oversized cot and a dummy laced with gin. It wasn't pretty, and it wasn't Garrett himself that got his hands dirty, but it was mightily effective in granting all the licences he needed, as well as helping him avoid a whole tickertape parade of red tape. And so it came to be that in the brilliant, bright sunlight of a cloudless, blue sky, the first of the new foundations for the enhanced, feature packed new sports clubhouse, was about to be laid. A small gathering including the mayor, local and county councillors, the chairman of the sports club and various committee members of each sporting section, as well as Garrett himself, had all come down to witness the groundbreaking moment. In reality it wasn't really much, just some concrete poured into a hole, but it was the sentiment that mattered. Washing away memories of the old clubhouse and the viciousness with which it had been destroyed, replacing all of those and the building itself with something contemporary that would hopefully become a family friendly, community environment for all to use, was Garrett's hope and greatest wish, not really because of the time and money he'd invested in the project, but because of the promise he'd made to Peter. That thought right there sent his mind spiralling off in a dozen different directions, primarily just how worried he was about the two youngsters who had disappeared... Peter Bentwhistle and Richie Rump. It was so unlike both of them, and most worrying. Of course he'd used some of his unofficial resources in an effort to track them down, with very little success. It was almost as if they'd dropped off the face of the planet. How was that even possible in this time of social media and big brother, nanny state policing, he wondered. Racking his brain for what to do next, his train of thought was suddenly interrupted as the mayor began his speech.
"Honoured friends, we are gathered here today..."
One text journeying through the ether, directed to three separate locations all within spitting distance of each other, started the chaos, mayhem, destruction and unprecedented loss of life in the heart of the medieval city that, for the most part, kept itself to itself. Three rip-roaring explosions, one from beneath the innocuous looking seat, one located amongst the long grass against the cathedral's wall and one centred on a high ledge, discharged with the full force of the military grade explosive that had been used, disintegrating everything contained within the minster, including the huge crowds of tourists that had come from across the globe to visit, all the superb stained glass windows, the famous clock which was amongst some of the oldest working in the world, all the sacred texts and of course, each and every wall. In no time at all, the full force of the detonation tore across the outside of the grounds, indiscriminately murdering men, women and children of all ages, races and religions. As if that explosive force and the wave of debris weren't bad enough, the main attraction started to come crashing down in all its glory. One hundred and twenty three metres high, the iconic spire, octagonal in shape, the tallest in Britain, now without any support or foundation, hurtled towards the ground, the full force of its towering weight behind it. Those few that had momentarily survived the initial blast, praised their luck and their God, ecstatic at being able to pull in another breath. Deities, luck and, more importantly, fate had other ideas, as over forty thousand tons of stone belonging to the rest of the building and its spire collapsed on top of the devastation that had already been caused, with an almighty BOOM, shaking the entire city to its core, throwing up a cloud of smoke and particulates into the air, triggering an unmatched, concentric wave of concussive force that shredded through everything in its way, taking out many of the surrounding buildings in the famous Close in which it was situated. Spontaneous fires burst into being as gas lines split. Surrounding buildings, not only in the Close but the city itself, wobbled precariously, some toppling to the ground, others staying upright just long enough for their inhabitants to escape out into the open. A surge of flotsam and jetsam carried along on the air by the force from the detonation extended out across the water meadows as rivers burst their banks, sheep ran amok and trees were flattened like pancakes. Anarchy and disorder the likes of which the city had never seen sparked into being. Residents, shoppers and tourists alike all ran towards the outskirts, one key thing cemented in their mind... SURVIVAL! Bedlam and mayhem ensued, as planned, turning the city into a scene from a war ravaged battle zone.