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"Ho!"

RoxSoKael proclaimed as the blast struck his shield, bracing, taking the blast but advancing.

"Ho!"

Struck again, but onward he strove, digging in and rushing the foe even as Athan dealt the mortal blow.

And with a thunderous roar the belly of the beast billowed and burst, raining bits of its steely skin outward in all directions at the champions. Shrapnel flying at the New Knight rebounded off of the steel armor, leaving small indents and large scrapes, pounding the very top of the helm and the armor upon his legs inward as his Shield of Glory ate its last feast of the machinations of the wicked, pounded inward upon his arm, ripped, tattered, and riddle by deep indents and tiny holes as it ate most of the force of the shrapnel sent forth. After all, our hero had only just approached to proximity of battle with the fendered fiend.

"HO!"

He bellowed upon this final strike, and cast his shield aside. Though the foe was fallen, his head removed and torso rent, he persisted in attacking them, refusing to admit defeat. Though it's tenacity were admirable, the metal monster was at its end, serving none but no one with the vindictive assault.

"No more, wretch!"

The platform fell and RoxSoKael's feet found no solid purchase, but as his now vacated left arm moved forward, and up above his head, it brought with it this time the mace from his belt. Leaning way forward to progress and pushing off the ground, running near parallel to the ground trying to fall from beneath his feet, the New Knight paid no mind as blasts of wicked energy singed his armor and burnt along his arms and sides.

"Thou! Art-!"

He pushed off at last, leap lasting entire seconds, if but a meager few, as he flew forward thanks to the land giving out beneath them, seeming to float in the most glorious of fashion as heroes were portrayed for their strikes in the Saturday morning tales of legends and lore. Forward, cresting above the chest remnant which persisted in attacking them all. As the axe and mace finished their ready, pulled backwards to the full, he took a far weakened blast dead on, closing his noble eyes to the red light as it struck his helm, washing over his face and darkening the portion of his armor.

"-SLAIN!"

And then with his mighty victorious roar, slammed both axe and mace together down on the cannon from opposite sides, angling downward, intent to smash the foul machination of cowardly ranged combat, rendering it so that it might never lay it's cursed gaze upon another noble warrior.

Well you know, Allen wanted to get rid of the guy, but not being stabbed in the face was kinda important. So his gauntlet would come to knock the bone blade aside, even as he still used his foot to kick Xehart in the gut. and that time would be used to roll away again.

Just as they crashed. Which wasn't as bad as Allen might have thought, until Allen looked down and saw the city sinking.

"Guys,we need to get out of here before we get buried alive, the city is sinking! Dammit, what is up with all these cities being wiped off the map..."

Allen would start moving, a bit shakily with all the bleeding going on, towards the Palace Dome that was now the exit. Hopefully the good guys would follow, and the guy that kept trying to stab him would ******** off.

Up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's....



Well... it was a dragon, all right. Red in color and diving down from the clouds towards the spirit factory, what it lacked in beefy arms it gained in speed and agility, using it's wings more as a way to glide and maneuver than a way to keep to the skies. "This is a terrible idea," he growled to his passenger, who was wearing thick goggles to keep his eyes open among the heavy winds. How the guy stood on top of something moving so fast was beyond anyone's guess.

Even his own.

"See you on the other side, buddy."

Some sort of metal, flat object in his hand, he took to the skies himself, his bomber jacket absorbing much of the wind and giving him the momentary gift of flight. Quickly followed by what historians would later describe as "the gift of plummeting to one's doom." Fortunately, he had a plan, one that he had come up with about two seconds prior as he landed on a piece of falling debris. Then, kicking off of that, he landed on another.

And another. And yet another. And after one last leap into the air, the metal he was carrying with him the entire time was planted firmly under his feet:

A steel folding chair. He did a flip. He did a twist. He even did one of those spiny twirly things - you know the one. But as he made his descent towards the rapidly-approaching ground, something was rapidly approaching him, too. "Oh, shi--"

K-DUNK.

Shkkt.

Several seconds later, something hit the ground near Roxsokael, skidding to a stop not more than a few yards away from him.

Apparently somewhere along the line Rage had traded his chairboard for a Directorboard.

Well, what was left of 'em, anyways, considering the smear that was running along the path he had taken on the ground. Brown eyes opened after a few moments, the impact from hitting the ground wearing off. Turned out he still had knees, that was a good thing.

The eyes, however, focused on Roxsokael for a moment.

"What the hell happened t--"

--BUH-KANG--

The chair, like a boomerang, always came back to it's master.

Against the back of it's master's head.

"Ow."

There was something in his hands; he threw it into the air before catching it again, an odd sort of smile on his face, tossing what was essentially a gigantic head around like a beach ball.

"At least I got a souvenir."

[10...]