“…To aid those in mortal peril! Behold, the Crimson Herald!” a voice, stalwart and resolute awoke from the void.

Doctor-Commander Cold Iron was perplexed, he thought he had died through Lysithea’s hands. Izo’s eyes opened to find himself flying atop the midst of a great moorland divided by a river. Across each side of the river, one bank filled with flowers; the other side full of weeds.

Descending downwards slowly with radiant red light onto the field-laden with flowers, Izo realized that they were instead an army of knightly soldiers dressed in red who paused their march. Their ‘flowers’ being the symbol of an upright winged sword on a red field, easily mistaken as a flower from a distance in his defense. Their armor gleamed with light, shining brightly on their valiant Crusade across the desolate land. Stepping on solid ground, the Inventor felt his body pull out a grand Silver Rapier with a Floral handguard from its scabbard. It was proudly raised reverently upon a host of several venerable Knights who bowed before him.

“The Holy Angel, Arazni the Crimson Crusader! Our Patron Saint.” revered a lordly knight whose eyes glistened in awe. “Herald to the Living God summoned to fight on our side! An Angel whose resolve and prowess in battle is only matched by her graceful beauty” he declared coquettishly.

The Doctor-Commander would have felt elated to be exalted like that in spite of his apprehension with those religious aphorisms of Gods he knows nothing nor no interest in knowingof knowing. Izo wasn’t much of a religious man in his honest thoughts. Having instead put his ‘faith’ mostly on his own agencies and of the soil sown by his previous scientific forebearers.

Then again, being addressed as ‘Arazni’ both browbeaten and yet also intrigued him. Looking down on his body, he realized it was no longer his own. In place of his Vulcan Armor was instead a intricate red Full-Plated. A medieval era means of protection of the body. It was etched harmonically to be between the illustrations of winds and of the petals of flowers that so matched the host of Knights that lay before her who seemed to patronize ‘Arazni’. Izo’s eyes caught the shining reflection from the steel shield of one knight to fully see this new body he’s in now, on his back was a pair of Angel Wings in imperial violet. Crowned on his head was a pair of gaudy buns that held up an immaculate halo from the mirror shine of one of the knight’s silvery shields.

Yet as flattering as the praises were, an incongruous unease grasped Izo, especially when his eyes gazed upon that arduous knight. An emotion not of his own, Abhorrent Doubt. Was this coming from the Crimson Crusader, the Angel Arazni? Izo felt her demurral propounded whenever she catches sight, caught whiff of the perfumed roses and every flowery words from Sir Roslar. It was a feeling of a pensive enchainment that slowly strangled her neck. It was as if that knight, a mortal held hostage her Agency, Mastery, Dominion over the otherwise ‘divine’ angel, unlike the myths of how it must be. But Izo couldn’t quite deduce what kind of influence it could be.

“Sir Ervin Roslar, milady…” the reverent and lordly knight sporting long hair and a thickened moustache piously bowed alongside another knight of hair cut into a squirely Bowl cut.

“Honor to you, Crimson Crusader.” The bowl-cut knight meekly acquiesces to his presence. “The Shining Crusade grows restless after so long. But now we are at the precipice of final victory, Crimson Crusader. The Knights are awaiting your order.”

“Io! Your name.” the Knight named Roslar gently elbowed the squirely “Forgive my Cassisian, Arazni. She has not long ago been dubbed with her Knighthood. Lady Fortis is still learning the mannerisms of how to Act like a knight. But I assure you, she is very capable with her Longsword.”

“Iomedae Fortis, Crimson Herald.” The bowl-cut knight rectified her mistake, introducing herself. Planting her longsword onto the ground and kneeling.

A Female Knight? How unheard of…

The Doctor-Commander was honestly surprised but was quite intrigued of the Bowl-cut knight of whom he had previously mistaken for a fair-faced if energetic male.

“Hold your swords upright! Hold your shields steady! Faithful Brothers and Sisters of the Knights of Ozem, before us stands the Hordes of Undead commanded by the Lich, Tar-Baphon.” Izo’s voice forcibly spoke out. It was now not only him being taken to ride upon Arazni’s body but also her tongue too. There was a burning anger, a long antipathy that spoke forth in every breath he spoke as Arazni. It was as if borne of sun’s grace that the Angel’s voice roared across the Crusader Army. “I see in your eyes the same fear that would take the heart of me. A day may come when our courage would fail, when we forsake ourselves and all bonds of fellowship. But today is not that day! For this hour, where rancid dogs of the Whispering Tyrant Tar-Baphon come crashing down upon us shall be the day we shall fight! Imagine! Imagine yourselves, behind us are your families, your homes and all those who you hold dear! All that stands between the Whispering Tyrant and his hordes are you Knights of Ozem. I bid you all… to hold the line! Follow me unto glory!”

Izo, as the Angel Arazni ‘the Crimson Herald’ or ‘the Crimson Crusader’ raised her rapier above the sky as she led the host of Knights from up above her. Yet those words that came out of her blazing mouth reverberated a factitious ambience that only those of wiser minds would have said was merely an inducement of vain comforts to what clamorous odds the Armies of the Living faced.

Tar-Baphon, the name so happened to be familiar to him, if only just recently. The Doctor-Commander recalled that Lysithea mentioned him as her ‘Father’. From what whispers she had spoken about him, he was a powerful wizard of unfathomable power. Once a mortal man, now ascendant to a monster of mythic powers. As a wizard of foul magicks he could kill even champions with merely a thought, then remold his corpse into a mindless minion to use against their once allies with macabre mockery. Even the mere sight of his horned visage, his aptly tyrannical Horns of Naraga absolutely terrifies the hearts of even the most stalwart of challengers.

Even from his viewing vessel, Arazni, their spirits were mutual. Just thinking of his name brought a dread and animosity within his gut as his faintly shadowed horns commanded his army of Undead minions, barbaric Greenskins and Mortal Thralls to charge across the river. A brutal melee broke forth as the Lich’s tireless Undead and the Arazni’s Army of the Living slaughtered each other. The Undead legions of the lich however, unfettered by the need of rallying speeches and hunger languidly pushed ground.

If nothing is done to tip the scales, the Shining Crusade will surely lose.

“Arazni, charge forth and slay the Lich Tar-Baphon!” Sir Roslar cried forth as he and Iomedae held off several armored juggernauts animated into the control of the Whispering Tyrant’s Will.

That same voice, Izo heard once more. Despite his devout bravado towards Arazni, he could feel inside him that his body, not that he was seeing through the lens of Arazni being controlled into action. It was as if Arazni was no more of just a puppet pulled with a marionette’s strings to fight. Just as he was no more but a dreaming observer to this vision. He could feel each inch of Arazni’s own body pulled along forward with forlorn agency. The Angel was somehow bound to the whims of her summoner, the knight Ervin Roslar.

“Behold! The Crimson Herald!” Arazni yelled forth as she cut a swathe from a company of Skeletons effortlessly with the swipe of her blade. “In the Name of Aroden! I shall punish you Tar-Baphon!”

“I shall crush that Light of yours Herald of Aroden from your pious neck.” Tar-Baphon in all of his domineering arrogance sneered. Malevolent yet frigid, he directed his puppets to press on with their attack.

Yet Arazni, soaring brightly with her heavenly wings, cut off their advance. With blazing fire she smites the hordes of Undead, Orcs and Mortals with her divine powers. Euphoria gleamed over Arazni and Izo as uncountable dozens of the Tyrant’s army fell by the Angel’s rapier as Arazni flew closer and closer towards Tar-Baphon…

Much to the Lich-King’s expectant delight. For she is now isolated and alone, away from her mortal allies who were bogged down by the more expendable quarters of his hordes. Clever Tar-Baphon was with how he expected from such a pompous prig of Heaven that was the Crimson Crusader. Just merely showing his face was enough for the Divine Herald of Aroden to haphazardly toss herself towards him like a gift wrapped in carmine ribbons.

“Now.” The Whispering Tyrant barbed his fingers. Skeletal Skirmishers, wielding bows, wands and javelins took flight. Their piercing pinions eclipsing the sky with thorns. Several shots had managed to land on the boisterous red Angel, its Evil taint creeped through Arazni’s Holy Wardings. Izo’s lungs coughed with watered blood as he felt each peppering missile creeped puncture him too.

It was as if he was actually her right there and there in that battlefield.

By the Tyrant’s side were an elite corps of his most precious abominations and of his trusted patsies, more distinguished by their more regal and idiosyncratic aberrations compared to the mill-born animated undead at the vanguard of the unliving horde:

One a crowned and alpine skeleton whose innocuously kingly attire was in stark contrast to the thick tangles of his rotting inner organs which hangs from his ribcage and drools out of his mouth tongue-like yet prehensile like a viper. Second was an equally gaudy character of feminine stature and pointed elven ears. Her Rapunzelian hair flowed downwards to the floor as she haughtily cooed a garden of mutant plants. The last of the members, was perhaps the closest of comparable power Whispering Tyrant had to a peer if subpar yet flattering replicant of his grandiose horns and magical raiment as perse as night.

“Erum-Hel, Misoyvel, Adivion. Bring that little birdie crashing to the ground.” Tar-Baphon ordered them.

“Your Will be done, Master.” Adivion bowed.

With his stygian staff, the lesser Lich Adivion conjured a magical chain rope that extended inhumanly long to over a hundred feet. He lassoed Arazni, capturing her between her waists as she was left dangling dead center above the Tyrant’s Undead hordes.

“Misoyvel I have her!” Adivion signaled as he held on tight his staff. His feet planting firmly to the ground as he fought to keep the Angel from escaping him.

Summoning two ravening thorned tendrils from above the ground, the sorceress lunged at the defenseless Angel.

“You fiends! How you dare lay your filthy hands upon the Crimson Herald!” she struggled to break free of her bindings, attempting to use the gust of her wings to break away the magical restraints.

Get out! Run. Run now!

Izo broke fearfully into a cold sweat. Arazni’s misaimed assault on Tar-Baphon was being thwarted in the seams. What was this Shining Crusade even thinking?

But as her wings unfurled, to the Angel’s horror Misoyvel’s tendrils entangled themselves onto them preventing her from escaping. The thorns gripped the feathers of her wings torturously as they pulled each of her wings apart. Arazni and Izo screamed, both of their tearful sorrows boomed forth across the battlefield much to the delight of her enemies and the alarm of her mortal allies. It was as if a thousand lashes struck him without end. By some sickening miracle or unholy intervention, he and Arazni were kept alive to feel every infliction of pain corroding them.

“Pluck! Pluck the feathers off the chicken!” Misoyvel cackled maddeningly as bit by bit the Angel’s wings were torn off from her back. Delighting greatly on each anguish cry the Angel screamed into her Elven ears. “Spatchcock her down to the ground!” she directed the viny tendrils to slam Arazni to the ground.

They're just playing around, get out of there!

Grounded, but not defeated, Arazni gripped her Rapier and dispelled the tendrils and bindings that she had taken. She had come so close to slaying the vile Whispering Tyrant and she cannot let her injuries stop her now. The light of her halo glimmered dimly yet still shined against the sea of darkness that began to surround her now that her highfalutin advantage had been hamstringed.

Arazni glared at the Tyrant’s Hordes, it was easy to dismiss them all as a trite rabble of banal Skeletons, wisping Incorporeals, hackneyed Zombies and nihilistic Mortals. But it would be foolish to under lay all such undead into one basket. Many such unliving abominations were formed through both artificial and natural means as the Crimson Angel knows and how they share about their harrowing existence can vary from the simple twist of the tongue to much more subtle means of offense.

A company of ruinous Skeletons and a phantasmal ball of sorrow-ridden faces marched to challenge the Angel. Their intoxicating meloncholic miasma chilled the hearts and sapped the passions of even the most sanguine of Knights and even Arazni. At its host was none other than the arrogant Erum-Hel, his forked Sinister Sword. The viciously two-bladed weapon was sharpened and hungered to satiate his everthirst for heart-piercing bloodshed.

“Brought low, now just like all of us Crimson Herald.” Erum-Hel taunted her. “Tell me, how does it feel?”

“Your band of butchers and a Melacage? Nothing less from the King of the Mohrgs!” Arazni lashed back as she held out her Rapier at the ready.

“Crimson Herald!” a valiant voice sounded behind her. Several of the most devout of the Knights of Ozem hurried to the Angel’s side. Having cut a desperate path through the first lines of the Whispering Tyrant’s armies to rendezvous with their Patron Saint. Many of whom gilded with the most audacious of arms and armaments stood between Tar-Baphon and the Crusader Angel.

“As knights of many, our souls shall be aflamed! We shall fight at your side!” a Knight in shining armor bowed.

“Together at arms one last adamant wall!” another Knight rallied.

Those men and women-at-arms held their shields into a steadfast wall formation side-by-side.

“The Tyrant shall fall!” Arazni roared.

Take them down!

The Crimson Crusader alongside the Knights of Ozem sallied forth as they clashed with Erum-Hel’s Chosen. Bone, Blood and shattered metal collided into a pandemonious melee. The Knights stood firm, every blow they received being quickly negated by the oncoming heals from a nearby Cleric who casted waves of healing spells that invigorated her allies, whilst also harming the undead.

“By the light of the Dawnflower smi---” the Cleric’s incantations, despite her passions, were cut off when a blade punctured through her chest from behind. The blood was spurting out as her heart was skewered and exposed for her comrades to see.

“Silence… Sweet silence…” quipped Erum-Hel, whose shadowy veil had flanked the Knights as they took the full brunt of his Chosen Warriors pulled away his sword from the Cleric’s mouth. He plucked the skewered heart from his Sinister Sword and happily crushed its pulpy flesh, the Healing Cleric’s blood flowing down his singed bones.

The Mohrg King was no mere brute, for he was a cunning slaughterer. He knew full well that the most dangerous opponents are those who rely not on their swords but in the faith of their sanctimonious deities up above. Positive Energies these living mortals being the antithetical bane of the Undead Hordes.

“We are being flanked!” One of the knights who held the Shield wall lost his nerves.

You idiot!

Not thinking thoroughly, he broke formation of the Shield Wall to face the Mohrg King but as soon as his shield turned away, one of the ravenous undead cut him down before he had time to draw his spear.

What was once an adamant wall collapsed by the sheer weight of the Undead Hordes of Tar-Baphon’s lieutenant.

“No!” Arazni gasped. As the heavy wave of Undead descended upon the knights.

The Mohrgs laid their rotted hands on the Knights and tore them all to bloodied shreds. Their inhumanly long ‘tongues’ made from the disgusting remains of their reanimated intestines grabbed hold of their blades before plunging themselves in their deathly kiss. Eyes opened and frozen forever in terror as their guts, blood and bones scattered away to these murderous monstrosities cackling delight.

But what was much worse than just slaughter, was that those slain by a Mohrg…

Come back as Undead Puppets, called Mohrg Spawn. The slain Knights of Ozem, unquestioningly lunge towards their former allies. Like a wildfired epidemic, these Mohrg Spawns coalesce their swelling numbers to greater atrocities as all forms of unit cohesion shattered for the Knights of Ozem.

“Herald! Slay Tar-Baphon nn---” one of the Knights of Ozem cried out before he was impaled by multiple blades from Erum-Hel’s Chosen and his very own Wife who had been slain and respawned into a Mohrg Spawn.

“Damn you Erum-Hel!” Arazni swung and thrust her Rapier at the Mohrgs. The Holy Powers of her Rapier, her stinging blade cutting down the Undead.

She may be an indomitable warrior, but the Angel was alone against dozens if not tens of dozens of Undead who came to pounce upon the wingless maiden. Their stinging poison, seeping with Evil Energies slowly burned through her stamina and those of her comrades as they gradually grinded the Shining Crusaders by their sheer numbers.

“Crimson Crusader Help us!” A Ranger yelled for aid but she was hacked down by Mohrgs who butchered her body to pieces.

“I can feel it crawling inside me!” a Paladin ripped away his armor before he became overcome with infectious bugs that crawled out of his mouth.

“Get them off--- AHH!” a Wizard gargled blood as he became the unwarranted steed of a mortic sum of ghouls who drowned him with their lithe bodies before succumbing to their poison and reanimating into a vile ghoul himself.

Those voices of despair, all crying out for her to save them. But the bodies of the Tyrant’s Minions blockaded her. If she still had her wings, the Angel could have saved them. Try as the Angel might, no matter how many of those rapacious undead she cut down, two more come to supplant, whether it is from Tar-Baphon’s own ranks… or the Ranks of the reanimated Crusaders.

“Where are… the Gods?!” the Melacage, its voice like Legions, mocked the Crimson Crusader as it fed upon the anguished cries of her slaughtered votaries. “Where were they when Tar-Baphon killed us Crimson Crusader?” the ghostly ball demoralized her.

“Enough… Enough… Enough!” mournful tears mewled from the Angel’s eyes as her vengeance, replaced vindication. Its intoxicating miasma fueled her zealous vigor. “Hurry! Rally to my side!” Arazni attempted to rouse the surviving Crusaders.

“There’s just too many of them!” one desperate yet surviving Knight of Ozem fought the Undead Hordes alongside several of his beleaguered comrades. They were besieged by dozens of Tyrant’s many puppets.

Arazni blessed in Sun’s Grace by Holy Light to have the strength of Thousands of Warriors perilously swung, thrust and smited her Rapier against the forces of Darkness. Yet Tar-Baphon always sends thousands and two more to drown the Angel in bodies and bodies. One by one, beneath glimpses from each Undead Puppet of the Tyrant she slew, Arazni saw her comrades, men and women she swore to defend in mortal peril be cut down, slain and arise again as a macabre mockeries of playthings for the callous Tar-Baphon to toss unto her feet.

“Arazni! Save us!” the last Knight screamed her name before she was cut down a dozen of times by the rusted falchion of a Mohrg Spawn.

So many… there were just so many of…

“Curse you… Curse you to the deepest pits of Abbadon!” Arazni roared as bitter heartache and indignation blinded her to the onslaught of Undead that assaulted her, chipping away her armor and managing to draw several drops of Angelic blood upon their claws and blades.

A Whirlpool of Rapier thrusts, bone cracks and Holy Smite disbursed upon the moorland as Arazni vengefully slew every last one of the Undead, Tar-Baphon’s and reanimated former Allies alike. Before long she collapsed to the muddy soil, sapped of much of her strength but triumphant.

But it was a Pyrrhic victory.

“I-I-I… I am sorry… I am so… so…Sorry…” she loosened more tears as she apologized to the corpses of her camaradic votaries-at-arms. She had failed her creed ‘to Aid those in mortal peril’.

She fell to her knees as she beseeched Heaven for forgiveness and strength. Sorrowful regret infecting her valiant heart.

No time for silly superstitions. Get up girl! Get up!

“Behold! The Crimson Herald!” the Melacage mocked Arazni as it loomed behind her. Her sweet sorrow, the tears of an angel was like sweet ambrosia to the ghostly ball of melancholy.

“Tar-Baphon… You will… Pay!” Arazni turned around and with her sword embodied with Holy Fire, she pierces the Melacage with all of her might. The ghostly ball dispassionately dissipated, having been released from the material coil by the Angel’s Holy Smite.

Arazni’s wearied legs wobbled as the enervated Angel inhaled deeply. The choking dead air brought forth from the permeated stench the Undead brought in their wake did little to console her. She may have killed many of these Undead, but her comrades lay dead before her. The ardent Crusader would not allow her eyes to be disgraced by more of Tar-Baphon’s barbarisms. Looking over the horizon, the Crimson Herald spots the Whispering Tyrant’s iconic twin horned helm that commanded his minion’s dark parade across Golarion.

Breathe heavy, she clamped her teeth as the Angel held onto her Floral Rapier. Arazni bent her feet shoulder width apart, her left leg and foot stretched far forward whilst her right leg bent down, its heavy heels of her red Full-Plate pressing the marshy soil.

She will carve out the Heart of Darkness and see the Tyrant fall.

Alone, the vengeful Angel cut a swathe towards Tar-Baphon, her fury burning twice as bright. It was a blur of blades, not caring to count how many Thralls she had to kill in order to reach the Tyrant. Such a rutted jaunt made the commuting Doctor-Commander’s head spin.

She was surrounded by fear and dead men.

“Have at thee!” the Crimson Crusader huffed defiantly, supplanting her two feet firmly to the ground amidst the rivers of re-slain corpses on her advance. She held the quillons of her Floral Rapier near her cheek as its sharp tip keened forward.

“Master, let us finish her.” Adivion volunteered alongside several of his most esteemed apprentices.

“Nay. She is mine.” Tar-Baphon held out his hand. “The sanctimonious quim of the Last Azlanti is for me to crush.” He leered.

The Whispering Tyrant hovered away from his retinue, his feet not daring to be soiled by the ground as he approached the clipped-winged Angel. Arazni’s weakened light, from what little Holy Magic she still has within her reserves searing just the surface of Tar-Baphon’s robes. But the Tyrant remained undeterred by Arazni’s audacity, in fact he finds the Crimson Herald’s impudence entertaining.

“Crimson Crusader, you bring so much hope that so many are willing to toss their lives away just for you is it not? A shame that Aroden sent some Harlot from Arcadia to take me down rather than doing the deed himself?” with great conceit, Tar-Baphon challenged her resolve as the two powerful beings faced each other eye to eye. “Tell me… how loud did your Crusaders scream for HIS name?” he scoffed dismissively.

“Not as loud as you will when I cut your head off.” Arazni dismissed the Whispering Tyrant. She gripped her Rapier with both of her bloodied hands.

“Then come! Come and smite me with all of the might of the Heavens, Crimson Herald!” Tar-Baphon let out his hand and conjured an orb of Evil energies.

A new wind returns into Arazni’s battered body as her Halo reclaimed its golden glow. The Crimson Crusader lunged herself into the fray. Her body may be weary but her pride remained strong.

The Angel imbued her Sword with Holy Powers as she angled every thrust and slash for an impaling finish to this nightmare. Her blinding speeds was swift as the winds yet flashed like lights, yet even then it wasn’t enough to penetrate his defenses. The Whispering Tyrant easily weaved, blocked and even straight up absorbed her attacks. The more that the Derring-Do Crimson Crusader tried as she might to land even a single blow upon Tar-Baphon, the more of her remaining reserves of energy slipped away. Her feeble attempts to strike him down only seemed to amuse the Lich rather than cause him to grow any concern for his wellbeing.

He grabbed the Angel’s arm mid thrust and twisted them into a despicable lock. Both Arazni and Cold Iron screeched in abject agony as the Negative Energies from the Lich’s hand incinerated the life of their bodies together.

He’s too much for you Arazni! Run away! Run away!

“Heavens, recall me back to thy hallow haa--- Huh?!” Seeing that she was no match for Tar-Baphon’s strength, Arazni desperately attempts to flee. But as she attempted to conjure the very last of her energies, used only for dire circumstances to escape by opening a dimensional doorway to make her escape…

A shimmering emerald field fastened her, preventing any movement as the Tyrant roared with derisive laughter as the magical bindings embedded her to the material plane.

“The ‘Brave’ Crimson Crusader attempts to flee from the malevolent villain? This is too much!” Tar-Baphon cackled ever louder. “If this is what the Herald of Aroden represents, then I have already won! Get on your knees you Arcadian Harlot!”

“You know, Harlot, I have heard of such Flowers from your homeland that seeped a slow-acting Poison that you can pass onto an unsuspecting victim. It would take days… weeks, months even before its deadly nectar reaches into the victims heart and kills them. I find such a fascinating story of botany quite amusing Arcadian.” The Tyrant poetized flairing discourse.

“W-wha? What baffling riddles do you speak of Tar-Baphon?” Arazni groaned in absolute dolor.

“Oh don’t get tied up with so much thinking Arazni. They are not riddles, my little Angel, but metonymies.” The Whispering Tyrant humored her. “So many people look up to you so much Crimson Herald. You bring hope, you bring light, you even invoke valor to all who follow you. But did you also know that you invoked this petty little shackle that you call… ‘Love’?”

“I don’t understand.” Arazni shook her head confused by the Tyrant’s soliloquies.

“One of your Knights, ‘Love’ you so much that they couldn’t bear for him to see you leave. I had some of my shadows send whispers of a way for him to ‘Earn’ your ‘Love’… To have you come down from the heavens to swoop in and slay the villain of this Shining Crusade, Tar-Baphon, the Whispering Tyrant, Me.” Tar-Baphon insinuated to Arazni’s ears with a wicked smile as the Herald’s eyes fully realized what.

“Roslar? T-T-Tha--- No! He would not!” The Angel growled.

He did this to her?

Izo couldn’t believe it, Now all of that lingering feelings of doubt he had felt from the Angel made much more sense. Arazni was Roslar’s puppet.

“Is that… Fear I sense in you Crimson Crusader? How banal of you! And to think, Aroden’s own Herald could fall oh so easily into my trap.”

Tar-Baphon grabbed hold of her Angelic Halo, in spiteinspite of Arazni’s frivolous attempts to get the cocky Lich off her with several juvenile strikes with her hands.

“You do not deserve these laurels!” Tar-Baphon eschewed. He kicked down the Angel downward onto her contrite and humiliating position, her Angelic Crown exposed as it lay atop her lavender hair.

“No!” Arazni cried as the tender-soul Angel held onto her crown in another futile attempt to stop Tar-Baphon from further mortifying her. “Heaven’s above help me! Aroden! Aroden! A-A-Aroden!” she reached her hand outwards for any form of salvation.

But none came…

The Whispering Tyrant rended Arazni’s Halo asunder, breaking the pearl-adorned golden ring to pieces that fell off his putrid hands. The ground quaked as the Angel’s scream escaped Arazni’s throat. Her Celestial linkage torn away from her, so violently that her head tremored torturously. Her haunting echo threatens to rend asunder just as much those of lesser hearts of such a sorrowful torment. The Holy Energies began to wither away from her body as she was made to a medium much to the Lich’s liking… flesh and blood.

Mortal.

The now forsakened and former Angel collapsed to the moorland soil. Weakly attempting to crawl away from Tar-Baphon. But it was for nought, as the Lich grabbed her by the throat and lifted her upwards.

“Le---eee----G-G-G---uhhh!!!” Arazni decrepitly seeked to shake off the Tyrant’s grasp but Tar-Baphon was simply too strong for her.

“Aroden’s power is not All-Seeing. He cannot reach me… and he cannot reach you.” The Whispering Tyrant mocked her.

Please… Stop…

The Doctor-Commander couldn’t take seeing such a sordid sight to her. It was all too close to him… everything. He wanted to block all those people’s screams, their suffering, their tears, their pain, their anger, their sorrow. Their anguish, it was too much, too close… so too many horrid memories being evoked back into Izo.

“N-No…” Arazni barely garbled any words from her smothered throat.Tears streamed from her cheeks. “Heh-! Help! Somme--- Someone… h-h-elp ---eeee!”

And in one facile motion of his hand. The Whispering Tyrant crushed Arazni’s throat.

The de-powered Angel, loss of all of its Holy Wardings and sapped of her power rolled her eyes as she limply dropped her Rapier into the floor. The last faint Glow of what was once a brilliant and beautiful Angel dimmed as mortal blood seeped through Arazni’s neck onto the Lich’s decayed right hand. The Herald had fallen.

“Did I not tell you, my little Angel?” Tar-Baphon laughed. “I told you I will crush that light of yours.”

“You have done it master. You have slain not just Aroden’s Arcadian Harlot, but a Movanic Deva her.” Adivion congratulated the Tyrant.

“But the battle still rages. But not for long,” Tar-Baphon loomed over the glade. “I have a ‘present’ for the Last Azlanti’s mongrel dogs.”

The Tyrant sliced, with his elongated and blade-edged finger on part of his clothes until he had enough threads to cover the Angel’s corpse in its entirety. With haughty bravado, he carried the wrapped Arazni on his hands and carried her across the front lines of the battlefield.

All fighting, whether through sword or spell paused languidly as the Shining Crusade turned their gaze upon the Whispering Tyrant. His awesome aura froze the hearts of everything alive around him with pastoral theatrics as he carried over a large wrapped object on his arms. Slowly he unfurled the wrappings to reveal the enervated corpse of Arazni, the slain Crimson Crusader for all of her petulant Army to bear frightening witness of.

“N-N-No…” Roslar’s eyes gasped. His breathe hoarse from the exhaustive fighting. “No!” tears began to fell down his bloodied cheeks as he saw the sorrowful atrocity before him.

Arazni’s limp body, wrapped in funerary rags, fell down to the floor. The blood from her crushed neck seeped through the dark soil. Her broken halo and Floral rapier falling beside her dead palms. Spat with the vile fluids of poisonand blasphemous arrogance. All was at first still amongst the Shining Crusaders, but not long before the first throes of shaken faiths sorrowed through the Knights of Ozem. Until even the tree’s billowed down into mourning

The Crimson Herald had fallen.

The Tyrant laughed triumphantly over the Angels corpse, once a symbol of defiance brought low to a. His arrogant guffaw elevated to reach the very heavens where whence Arazni came.

“Arazni!” Iomedae cried.

[-]

“RED ALERT! RED ALERT! We are at DEFCON 2. Direct Violation of U.S. Code 115 a1B: threatens to assault, kidnap, or murder, a United States official, a United States judge, a Federal law enforcement officer, or an official whose killing would be a crime under such section, with intent to impede, intimidate, or interfere with such ---” Myrmidon wailed at verbatim repeating the laws they were programmed to follow. If they were human, the Artificial Intelligence would have been panicking at this very moment when H.E.N.R.I. returned with the grim news that the Doctor-Commander was trapped at Vellumis.

“We need to form a Rescue Party immediately!” H.E.N.R.I. shook off Myrmidon from their perturbed stupor.

“Yes --- Oh—Oh-Of course! Secretary Baird’s safety is paramount. All non-essential activities have been paused until his safe return. I shall prepare an extraction team and the Medical Bay to treat any injuries he may have received upon his successful rescue.” Myrmidon affirmed. “Henry, if I may ask? Has the Master Access Key not left the Secretary’s person when last you met him?” the A.I. asked.

“No, it never leaves his person. Not whilst he is still alive.” H.E.N.R.I answered.

“Then I should be able to easily track him down by tracking the Key’s built-in Sonar Emitter.” Myrmidon mentions. “I am assigning Twelve M.U.S.C.L.E. Units for the Extraction Team.”

“You will also need help too. I can come alongside some of Izo’s own Robots too.” H.E.N.R.I.

“Me too! Me too! I wanna kill some biggie stuff now!” Golgar volunteered.

“Fine, but do exactly what me and Myrmidon says.” H.E.N.R.I agreed, albeit with acknowledged risks from this rambunctious Leshy.

“Hurry down to the Armory. You will need to stock up on weapons. My battlefield analysis predicts we will be moderately outnumbered.” Myrmidon forewarned. “Do not stay inside the Hostile Territory for long. Priority is to extract Secretary Baird.”

Rushing downstairs to the Armory, H.E.N.R.I. observed how the M.U.S.C.L.E Units dress themselves for battle, having only seen them be used for construction and maintenance as of the last few days.

The Myrmidons Chassis that they wore stood themselves tall of healthy human height. Their heads glow a single cyclopean eye that is their Optic Sensors on a attenuated ovaliformed box. Their bodies were adorned in dusty armored paddings and leather pockets used to hold their equipment. Much of their equipment in the Armory were of exceptional condition albeit of items found commonly within the ruins of such vaults once deemed ‘Police Stations’ of the Old World. Stun Batons, Riot Shields and non-Lethal grenades from Flashbangs to Smoke Canisters. For weapons however, there was a deluxe assortment of mostly Handguns, several pump-action Shotguns and a handful of Assault Rifles.

Just as Myrmidon said, Twelve M.U.S.C.L.E. Units arrived at the Armory and made use of the Arsenal. Of note for H.E.N.R.I.’s observation he saw four of those twelve pick up a shield whilst arming themselves twice with a Stun Baton and a Pistol from their racks. They stepped away from their other eight comrades and practiced several fluid formations where they protected each other from all stoically before knightly sheathing their arms.

“Put your pep on yer steps you limp-dick fuck ups! We Oscar-Mike!” A floating orb entered the Armory and wisecracked the Myrmidons despite their collective dismissal. It was a Mister Gutsy Robot, a relic of the old Pioneer Citadel that managed to escape with the Doctor-Commander during his flight from Houston.

“No Flames today Unit-G-U-One-Five. Pack small arms and sharpen those blades of yours.” H.E.N.R.I. reminded the Mister Gutsy.

“Miss me with that cherry-chump jive?! We’re fighting for truth, freedom and the American way! And I ain’t lettings some God-Damn dirty heathens stop us from manifesting our Destiny H.E.N.R.I.” the Mister Gutsy cussed at the Mechanical Manservant. “Now let’s get Master back or so help me god I am making these jelly-asses clean Master’s Latrine with their fucking tooth brushes!”

“Again, G-U-One-Five, we don’t even have toothbrushes. We don’t even have teeth!” H.E.N.R.I. shrugged. “I am at least pleased that you are taking into our new living conditions well.”

It wasn’t long before the rest of the Robots of Fort Bragg readied up with their Weapons and Equipment. Together, marching as one to the great Vault Door of Fort Bragg, the Robots armed and ready gathered as the gate slowly opened to the outside world, stoic and steadfast like the cold winds they entered into the fray.

“Operation is Green Light.” Myrmidon kicked off the mission. “Bring him home.”

[-]

Arazni frantically opened her eyes as she inhaled for breath. She remembered the oppressive grip of Tar-Baphon

“Crimson Crusader! We killed you…” Lysithea froze in disbelief. Her Sorrowscythe fearfully crossed her chest as the Pallid Angel witnessed a dormant light erupt from the emptied “We killed you!” she desperately screamed. She ushered her accompanying peons to attack the now reawakened Angel before she could remanifest herself into reality.

The Angel looked at the depraved harlot who so blasphemously posed herself as an ‘Angel’. Long old memories flooded her mind as she stood back up on her two heavy feet. She oh so remembered of how a long time ago, she had once humbled the pompous Lysithea from her high horse.

“I shall send you back to Abbadon you heinous sham!” Arazni gritted her teeth. With the force of her sheer will (and some of her dipon her right hand, a shining rapier of light erupted from her blood.

The Crimson Herald roared. Her contempt for all things Unholy and Evil warded her from what heinous magics sent her way. Disgust became her shield as the Whispering Way Cultists attempted to hack her down with their clubbed bladed like before. Yet her sword, her blazing rapier of searing light struck them down, fueled by her hatred of them all who dare defy the order of the world.

Like hungered wolves, she howled maddeningly at her assailants. The Crimson Crusader was all too familiar to them and their hushed master.

Once forsaken, now the Crimson Crusader has awakened. The time of her return is now.

A Fallen Angel’s heart for justice once more, shining and divine. The wrath of her righteous will now ready as a ghostly rapier appeared before her left hand. Heaven’s judgement shall cut these wicked souls down upon her line.