Headed by a Snake

Tycondrius glanced over at the long curved blade that once belonged to Champion Narkissa. It was lodged firmly in the lower abdomen of the Snake Cult's recently deceased Warlord-- whatever her name was.

Tossing the waraxe aside, he grabbed the sword's hilt and wrenched it out of the body, casually splashing a bit of blood and viscera onto his sandals. The long weapon would probably be better at cutting down swaths of cultists, Unranked and Bronze as they were.

"Good afternoon," He waved. "You must all be very curious as to why I've gathered you all here."

"YOU!! YOU!!!!! You'll PAY for this, NONBELIEVER!!" One of the cultists shouted. He was frothing at the mouth, pointing threateningly with a hatchet, slick with blood...

"Ah, about that..." Tycon nodded in thought, "Might I interest you all in a civilized discussion about tolerance and acceptance of other peoples' beliefs?"

The accusatory cultist's hatchet was made of bone-- most of their weapons were. Those would do nothing but shatter against his Arcanite armor.

The armor they wore was... also woefully lacking. Some wore piecemeal, looted metal plates. Some wore leathers... but those that did left their necks and arms exposed.

Most were nude. And unwashed.

The Snake Cult's forces had the advantage of superior numbers... which was meaningless in the current circumstances.

Considering his opponents' shoddy defenses, Tycon could forego some lethal accuracy in exchange for speed. With their brittle weaponry and their relatively low levels of strength, he could forego some defensive considerations for... even more speed.

To him, the cultists were clearly and utterly outmatched.

It was a shame that they did not appear willing to negotiate...

"No?" He tightly gripped his weapon, one hand on the handle, the other halfway up the blade... He should have known his suggestion of intellectual discourse would not be entertained.

"Very well... By the will of Eternal Flame, I shall purge the heretics from this land-- or something like that."

...

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark swung his Dark Iron wolf-hammer, crushing in another cultist's skull.

"Bannok! There's no end to them!" He shouted.

The one-armed Weaponmaster grunted, nodding in response as he turned his back, "I didn't ask for your help, guy! This is my mission."

"How about a tactical withdrawal?" Lone urged politely... as he plunged the Shatterspike through a one-eyed cultist's... remaining eye.

That was unintentionally cruel of him.

As the dying cultist screamed and thrashed his arms, some blood got into Lone's mouth-- probably one of the worst things that could happen. He paused, spitting on the floor, "Ptoo! Beh! Bleghhh!!"

"You mean retreat?" Bannok scoffed, "Tch. Go ahead. Nothin's stopping you, guy. As far as I��m concerned, I already died back there in those halls."

"For a dead guy, you sure do TALK A LOT!!" Lone shouted, wiping the corner of his mouth.

"Why I oughta..." Bannok turned, not with anger, but with wide panicked eyes, "GET DOWN!!"

It was a very commanding, very convincing yell. It was how Boss Tycon yelled.

Thankfully, his body reacted faster than his brain did, and he dropped to the ground... Even though it was more than -a little dangerous, he took his chances, looking up.

Something was flying on wings of... fire. It was a little like Tanamar's wings... except more... big. Bigger. Embiggened wings... from a fiery bird.

Or a fire angel. Were fire angels a thing?

And the beautiful angel that those wings carried was...

...Mister Dragan?

It was a red-headed half-giant, carrying a huge, black... sword? It was definitely Dragan!

There was a blindingly bright flash of light... and then a loud, deafening crash. The ground rumbled and shook from Dragan's distant impact, powerful enough to take all the surrounding cultist's off their feet.

That was his chance!

Lone quickly got up, smashing and stabbing as fast as he could.

"Ahahaha!!" He laughed as he murdered a dozen cultists in the span of a few seconds, "I'm IMMORTAL!!"

His own voice sounded a bit muffled... and there was a weird, high-pitched noise in his ears.

...That would go away, eventually.

Hopefully.

Every swing of his sword and wolf-hammer, someone died. He was trying very hard, only attacking their exposed points and going for killing blows.... but still.

When had it become so easy to kill people?

He was cutting down cultists so much, he felt like a god of death... It was becoming... almost more like a chore than a battle. These were real people... with real lives and... hopes and dreams.

"D-die!! Nonbeliever!!"  A cultist shouted, "Snake god PROTECT MEEEE!!!!"

Lone drove his sword into the man's screaming mouth, lifted him over his shoulders, and tossed him into a group of three others.

No, nevermind. These were brainwashed cultists that kept running at him, too stupid to do anything else.

Naturally, he and Bannok fought their way towards Dragan's crater.

"DRAGAN!!!" Lone shouted, "HEYYYY!!!"

The red-headed giant swiped his huge black sword through a group of five cultists, cutting through four of their torsos and putting a deep gash in the chest of the fifth. Lone took the opportunity to leap towards that one, breaking the guy's face with his wolf-hammer.

Dragan turned and pointed to Lone with his off-hand,, "EYYYYYY!!!"

There he was... the big-boned brute, smiling, laughing, and covered in blood. It was just like old times. It made Lone realize just how much he missed the guy.

Lone mirrored Dragan's pointing, "EYYYYY!! Have you lost WEIGHT?! You look really good!!"

"EYYYY!!! Have I?! Thanks a lot, BUD!"

"Uh huh!! EYYYYYYYYYY!!!!"

"You gotta be sh*ttin' me..." Bannok's jaw had dropped, "That's... you're... Dragan... of Guild Sol Invictus!"

"EYYYY!" Dragan pointed, "That's us! We're here to help!!"

"Sounds good!!" Lone shouted, "We could use it!!"

"NAH!! You guys TOTALLY HAD IT!"

"NAH!! We TOTALLY DIDN'T!!" Lone was grinning like a fool. Now that Dragan was here, everything was going to be okay.

Muted gunshots rang out... He could barely hear them, but he couldn't mistake the sound as anything else. Seconds later, half-a-dozen cultists that were approaching on Bannok's side fell down in the middle of a bloody pink mist.

"What the HELLS was that?!" Bannok shouted, "I thought Letalis was out of ammo?!"

"NAH!!" Dragan shouted back, "--Oh, wait, MAYBE!! That was from one of OUR guys!!"

Lone raised his eyebrows, "W-we have another gunner?"

He thought he was the only one in Sol Invictus who used a gun...

"Huh?" Dragan placed a bloody hand on his chin in thought, "Oh, yeah! We got lots of guys. We got Boss, we got a Sharpshooter, there's a Flaming Homo-Sorcerer, and we got--"

"DEATH TO THE ENEMIES..."

Lone turned around completely... spotting... an elf... with sandy blonde hair.

P... pale?