About Time I Left an Update!

I thought that it was about time that I'd leave you guys out there na update on the Tome Series and more importantly my newest development in the writing world.
 The final draft of the book has been going well and I'm almost at 10,000 words hoping to have at least 130,000-150,000 words when it is finished (fingers crossed).
 But a little more information is needed is it not? Well, it will be a Trilogy of events that descirbe the rise of some characters as I have explained and is called: The Dante Trilogy. But revealing any more will spoil the story so I will have to stop talking now. But keep coming back and hoping and I'll keep you posted on The Dante Trilogy.

What Makes the Monster

Grosse Mann, the most powerful beast on Earth is controlled by a supream group of Cult of Mechanics Scientists but just who leads a supreame group of Scientists?

Tome: When the Night Falls

Chapter 8

He watched with great intent as the Bio-Mechanical leapt up onto Grosse Mann’s body and started tearing at the cameras on Grosse Mann’s head.

 Then he started screaming to get the Bio-Mechanical off but it was too late to order as both cameras were ripped forcefully from Grosse Mann’s head. The screen went black and the man slammed an angered fist down on the machines. Their spirits shivered in fear shown by the short lapse in the lights that flickered as he drew their energy in clumsily in his anger.

 Raising himself up he cast the energy back into the lights and walked out of the room, pushing past the scientists and other Cult of Mechanics operatives.

 “Where was that,” he asked one of them as he walked quickly down the corridor.

 “The same place that we replace the Clockwork Watchman, Sir,” the man answered quickly.

 “We’re going there, now. I don’t want to miss anymore of this… experiment…” the man grumbled as he continued to walk heedless of the man’s warnings:

 “Is that truly wise? Do you really think you should go right to the heart of where death itself lies?” the man asked.

 He turned around and stomped back up the corridor, “Do not question my movements if you truly value your job here…” he hissed in the man’s ear before turning and walking back down the way he had come.

 The man sighed and said to himself, “Thing is… I don’t value my job here…” he looked fondly at the hand that he had tinkered with all of his life to replace the other that he had lost.

 All of his life had been poured into making his standard of living better but now he doubted how many years he would have left to enjoy that standard of living he had given himself. He dragged the cold steel of the hand down his wizened, wrinkled cheek before turning to return to the lab. His tired eyes drooped and frowned almost as much as his lips. His hair fell in long, silvery drags across his head, dirty and unwashed for weeks after all of the work that he had been forced to do.

 “So many sleepless nights…” Professor Archibald Scarlet Currie drawled taking his spectacles off and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 “Are you alright, Sir?” one of the Cult of Mechanics advisors asked and Archibald turned round to face him.

 “I’ve spent over one-hundred years perfecting my body with near perfect Bio-Mechanical implants, spent fifty of those bossing these people around… do want to hazard a guess at whether or not I’m “alright”?” Professor Currie grumbled before setting himself down in his brown leather office chair and spinning himself around and wheeling himself over to the scientists at his command.

 “We’ve lost cameras but have we lost anything else?” Archibald asked.

 Many voices answered in answer, “Connection lost momentarily but we’ve fixed it, Power to all limbs are on full but we can’t seem to get it so stand upright yet, Brain activity is normal and it is speaking with its enemies… what it is saying we don’t know however…”

 “That would be interesting to know what the beast was saying…” Archibald thought to himself before his world became a bluster of orders being received and orders being issued again.

 Death raised an arm and felt the searing heat of the Haloed energies burn against his bone. Had he not lost the ability to scream in pain so long ago, he would be. Instead he clenched his top and bottom jaw tight together and brought another arm up and let his fist power its way into Grosse Mann’s stomach. Grosse Mann doubled over and Death grabbed two of the pipes on his back and flung the monster across the room and into the wall, dashing against the soil hill as it did so, sending dust and dirt flailing into the air.

 Number 47 crawled away, kicking at the ground to force himself out of the sprawling monster’s path. Tiberius had different plans holding his axe up, silently and resolute and letting its blade cut through Grosse Mann’s shoulder. When the two bodies made contact something amazing happened.

 Time stopped as the Paladin noticed this for only the few seconds that his blade passed quickly through Grosse Mann’s shadow suit and skin. The Haloed energy now in his veins reacted with his axe as if it was stealing Grosse Mann’s new found energies. At the same time, he watched as the blade began to crack and splinter as the light energy it took in was too much, it passed down the Paladin’s armour, through his feet and burned him right to the very soul. It stole his life, his blue, cold eyes flickering out for a second as he died away then Grosse Man carried on flying past him.

 Only the simplest of niches had caused such a great power surge. So what would a proper wound do?

 Dead Weight burst into the room and punched the first man that barrelled towards him then kicked the next in the groin sending him to the floor with another balled fist to the head.

 The man flew backwards and landed.

 There were no more adversaries…

 Dead Weight walked into the room, skirting the fallen bodies and looking through the things on the desk. The first thing that he stole was a spare bandana. Dead Weight tied it around his face and slipped on an extra pair of glasses. Noble Alliance operatives obviously. Secondly, a pistol lay flat on the desk, unassembled but it took Dead Weight no time to build up the pistol and slip it into a holster on his belt. Next he found his sword. The haze inhibited of sorts but it was still his sword. The spade like tip shone the darkest. Perfect for cutting through…

 Dead Weight grabbed the handle and felt the burning over his palm.

 “That damn Paladin…” Dead Weight cursed loudly and looked at the blade again. It twinkled slightly, it shouldn’t have done that. This was a curse of light magic placed over the blade. It was a simple charm. One that Dead Weight could break with his eyes closed…

 Dead Weight placed his hand tentatively on the blade and forced his Necromancy through it. The energy poured into and under the light and blew it apart like glass. Shards of it soared through the air and passed Dead Weight.

 Picking up the sword and stroking its blade lovingly, he placed it back into the scabbard on his back and walked out of the room. Kitted up again, he continued carefully down the corridors seeing quite how empty it was.

 Then Death was thrown through the metal walls in front of him. In his fright he threw himself backwards avoiding the bulk of Death’s body as he crash landed against the wall in the corridor he was walking down.

 Looking up he saw Death look at Dead Weight for a second before a wiry spindly hand came in and grasped Death’s collar bone and dragged him back out again. Dead Weight drew his sword and looked carefully around the corner. There he saw Death and Grosse Mann fighting against each other in a truly titanic battle. Huge bolts of magical energy were being thrown across the room at the other and dodged. Those that did hit exploded with a huge energy blast that rattled Death’s frail skeleton and started Grosse Mann’s dead heart.

 Dead Weight bolted across the killing grounds slashing his way past hostile soldiers of which there were few left and by the time Dead Weight had made it to the bullet encrusted soil hill there were none left. Diving over the barricade, Dead Weight landed beside the wounded Paladin and Number 47. Both parties looked at each other suspiciously.

 “Now we can kill each other or we can save our own lives and fight them,” Dead Weight bargained.

 Both continued to look suspiciously at each other before Tiberius said, “I will not be forced to shake hands with the Necromancer.”

 Number 47 nodded and then looked at Dead Weight again, “Agreed.” Although still nobody shook hands on the deal and throughout it all, each gave the other suspicious and suspecting looks…

 Death was taking a proper beating from Grosse Mann but for every seven hits that it took the sluggish Grosse Mann to land a wounding blow, all it took was one great slash of Death’s scythe and Grosse Mann was staggering backwards.

 Then the final blow came, and it wasn’t Death that landed it…

Something Bigger is Coming

Something bigger is coming... or at least I hope it is. With the most recent works that I've started I haven't been able to get around to doing any work on Tome: Determined Boneheads but I promise that you'll definatley see the end result of what is coming.
 Yes, I am finally getting around to doing the final redraft of a Novel that I have been working on based in the Tome World. This describes some of the things that you will have heard about in Tome: When the Night Falls as the Novel is based before the short stories. Some of these origins that I speak of are: Filius Mortis (yep, even the guy with the scythe has a humble beginning), Dead Weight, Haloed Energy (and perhaps more importantly, where is comes from) and some other, exciting beginnings too...
 This does mean that posts will become shorter and less of them but do not think that this will mean that I will stop posting altogether because I will still be posting.
 So you could think of this as a bit of an apology... sorry...

The Gods That Fell

Firstly, I am sorry that I couldn't post anything last night but I was away at a Wedding and I couldn't get the internet anywhere but I did try, he tankful of that.
 In hope that I make up for that, today I will post Chapter 9 & Chapter 10 and (amn't I spoiling you!) a taster of the November Series. So keep reading!
 ...enjoy ...

Tome: When the Night Falls

Chapter 9

The meek man’s hand reached out and Death laughed at him, “What the hell do you think you’re going to do,” then raised his scythe to relive him of the weight on his shoulders.

 Next he heard the buzzing, fizzing energy that crackled in lightening strikes in the air. A great electrical storm blew above him, powered by the energy of the Haloed energy that Grosse Mann was conjuring up.

 Lowering his scythe and dropping it from his hands, Death raised his arms and grasped the lightening storm. The power he could feel ripping at his bones and shredding its outer layer to feed finally on the marrow below before it completely consumed the skeletal figure of Death.

 Death was not so keen to be so easily disassembled and called upon something from the centre of his darkest places and brought them to the surface letting the Necromancy flow in dark clouds, slowly up his arm and into the storm above. In the room now rain lashed at all inside. That shower plastering his deathly shadowed cloak to the bone. Wind roared around him trying to peel the plastered cloak from his bones and whipping at his hood. Hiding his eye socket so as his one, single, solitary eye could look darkly at his enemy.

 Grosse Mann’s hand continued to feed power into the storm as the two stared the other down again.  Locked in concentration as they fought for supremacy over the storm clouds.

 Grosse Mann won…

 The first strike of lightening tore Death’s cloak in two as it flailed wildly across the air. The second tore a bone from his rib cage and a third stuck his eye right at the centre. Burning and blazing. Cupping a hand over the terrible wound, Death brought himself to his feet.

 A forth and final brought the unsteady giant to his back, all Necromancy lost from his bones gone as Death fell to the floor. His hand fell away from the wound and everyone could see the full extent of the damage done to Death.

 Death swore before calling, “The Clockwork Watchman… Kill him…” then his head fell back, memories broken and for the time being in a dreamy state. A single fly, the messenger of death and famine landed on his wounded eye and others followed quickly. Soon an amassed swarm was fleeting across Death’s body until nobody could see what was going on under that veil of dark blackness.

Dead Weight had heard the call and he knew what to do. He knew how to do it. He had already done it once… but then, there was not a God standing in his way. Now it even stalked around the room looking for more prey to kill after already battering the Bio-Mechanical and Death itself into the ground. Filius Mortis lay still and Death… he could only guess as more and more flies zipped across his body.

 Dead Weight drew his sword, the lethal haze drawing the light away from the three bodies gathered behind that hill.

 “I will kill him…” Dead Weight vowed and started to clamber up the hill.

 “It will kill you,” Number 47 held his shoulder back.

 “Let it try,” Dead Weight tightened the bandana around his face and threw himself over the hill sprinting across the dead soldiers and skirting his way past the dying.

 Filius Mortis watched, now waking, as Dead Weight bolted across the grounds straight towards the Clockwork Watchman.

 “How could I have been so darn blind?” Filius Mortis cursed himself realising that it was the Clockwork Watchmen around the world that controlled the God. They were the pilots for the God’s energy. Kill one vital transmitter, kill the whole thing…

 Grosse Mann’s gaze was following Dead Weight as he ran but not him… Pulling his tired body up into a sitting position, the Bio-Mechanical called on the very limited amount of Haloed energy in his bones, the sparks flew out of the tip of his finger and he roared out:

 “Grosse Mann! Watch this,” Grosse Mann turned around to feel the burning, singing heat of the ball of Haloed energy sear against his face and burn more mechanics. Another piece of vital machinery fell from his face, broken and lost. Others were being melted together while some flitted away from existence entirely.

 Grosse Mann’s rage did not fail however as it powered over on all eight of its limbs straight towards Mortis.

 Mortis swore, held his hands up in a defensive nature and then started screaming…

Dead Weight ran straight towards the Clockwork Watchman, ignoring Mortis’s wailing and thrusting his sword out straight towards the Clockwork Watchman. Another blade batted his hand own away but it was not damaged in the process. The Necromancy cut deep into the blade and melted away at the steel. At its hilt, clockwork mechanics ticked quietly, power the hum of energy that ran electrically down the blade. Dead Weight reckoned that one good swing could break the sword and perhaps even more…

 Looking up to face his opponent’s face he found himself quickly dodging the rain of bullets that tore past him. Swinging his sword up and pouring his full energy into the swing, he made his enemy the one to be on the defence. More and more heavy swings Dead Weight made roar past and again and again his enemy managed to bob and weave out of the way.

 Then his opponent’s electrical sword struck him in the leg, biting deep and making him feel the full extent of the damage right down to the bone. Dead Weight screamed in agony, a scream that alerted Number 47 and Tiberius to look up and check on their once and only time colleague.

 “Do you think we should help him?” Tiberius asked.

 Number 47 looked at him, a sense of mocking in his voice, “Are you feeling sorry for the Necromancer, Tiberius?”

 “How dare you accuse me of such… yes…” Tiberius confessed ashamed.

 Number 47 ginned. “I thought so,” then he followed Dead Weight’s route over the hill and started to dart across the ground, avoiding the rolling tumble of Filius Mortis and Grosse Mann. Hesitating a moment more, Tiberius followed grasping his axe tight in his hand, the patterns of the Haloed energy playing out swiftly over the blade as he followed.

 Dead Weight chipped in his blade underneath the electrical blade pulling it slowly, painfully away from the wound in his leg and watching as the electricity threw itself all over the place. Narrowly avoiding another zap from the thick blade, Dead Weight threw another uppercut with his own sword and split through the clockwork mechanisms of the thing.

 The man tossed the useless blade away and threw out his hand, the wires on the underside of his hand spat electricity, powered by his magical energy. Dead Weight raised his sword and watched as the shadows reached out to grasp at the lightening that the man produced, enveloping and catching it all.

 Then he pinned another deadly attack that cut through his shin and burned his blood. The man screamed out and staggered around before zapping Dead Weight’s arm with a quick electric shock that made him jerk the blade backwards. A painful removal of the blade but the quicker the better, there was no telling what Necromancer shadows could do if it got into your bloodstream.

 Then the sword was at his throat, “What do you want? Who are you?” Dead Weight asked.

 The man had no choice but to answer, “I am Jacob Grantham… head of the “Grosse Mann Project”,” he answered.

 Dead Weight pressed the flat of the blade closer so as the full effect of the burning could be felt, “What does the “Gosse Mann Project,” do exactly?”

 “You remember the time, Dead Weight… don’t you…” Mr Grantham said, “That time that only the sorcerers remember don’t you?”

 “Of course I do, Mr Grantham, every sorcerer before that time does,” Dead Weight answered pressing the blade ever so slightly against the skin, “What is it for?” Dead Weight gestured carefully to Grosse Mann whom seemed to be playing with Filius Mortis like a cat does with a ball of wool.

 “We want the power that we had back. We want all of it, Necromancer. We’re going to eradicate the Necromancers and the Order of Darkness like we came so very, very close to doing before… we’re going to kill you all… every sorcerer shall beg for our mercy. Our soldiers shall cleanse this world so as only the pure remain and the others die,” Jacob said, “That is what Grosse Mann is for.”

 “The only being that you could get your grubby hands on for experiment,” Dead Weight growled. “The only being that could hold the true power of the Haloed energy in its frame… but it couldn’t could it?”

 Jacob looked at him funny, seething with hatred as the burning continued on his throat.

 “Because you needed the Clockwork Watchman as pilots to the power, several of them placed in points around the world where they fell… its clever I’ll grant you that… but no Order of the sorcerers shall ever have that much power again, Jacob. Why? Look at yourself, it has totally corrupted you as it had then… and it’s down to me to stop this…” Dead Weight looked him sternly in the eye before whirling round, the fiery passion in that swing seen in his eyes even through the dark tinted Noble Alliance glasses as he cut a bloody path through the Clockwork Watchman’s body for a second time.

 “NO,” Jacob roared lunging at Dead Weight and feeling the bullet pass straight through his stomach. Landing on the floor with a great thud, Jacob turned around and saw Number 47’s pistol, smoking, its end hot with discharge.

 Number 47 holstered his pistol and looked up at Grosse Mann, seeing it toss Filius Mortis away, down the hall and into the wall with a great metallic crunch.

 The being did not die however, its movements became more natural seen as it turned slowly around. In its faceless features, the hatred burned brightly.

 Grosse Mann had regained complete control of his body…

Chapter 10

The first movement that Grosse Mann made back in his own body was a direct, straight route towards Jacob.

 “Do you know how much pain you caused me?” Grosse Mann made sure that Jacob’s ears bled as the words bellowed in his ears.

 Jacob held up his hands, “No please don’t…”

 “I said DO YOU?” Grosse Mann growls rose to a great, almighty roar.

 “Leave this place Grosse Mann…” Grosse Mann whirled around and saw Filius Mortis beginning to walk weakly towards it.

 Grosse Mann turned to Mortis and growled, “And what are you going to do Bio-Mechanical?”

 Mortis raised his hand to conjure the shadows to his command but instead staggered forwards, a mistake to even begin to raise his hand.

 Grosse Mann simply laughed and raised his own clawed hand, “You forget, Mortis, I now also control the Haloed energies…” then launched a bolt from his finger tips.

 “STOP,” Tiberius roared and stepped in the way raised the flat of his axe towards, Grosse Mann and stopping the energy from hitting Mortis, the blast instead caught the tips of his fingers and he started to disassemble slowly.

 “Tiberius,” Dead Weight charged in placing a veil of shadow over the Haloed energy dimming it and aiding the Paladin’s abilities but this was proving too much for his body as the shadows fed off of him. Slowly his body faded away, quicker and quicker as more and more shadows were poured into the incantation.

 The Haloed energy although did not forgo its ill effects on Grosse Mann either as the backlash whipped out and started to rip at Grosse Mann’s body too. The damage already done to the two sorcerers and the one foolish monster, each began to disassemble and fade away until there was no memory of Grosse Mann or of Tiberius. It was strange being disassembled, Tiberius thought as he watched ever part of his body begin to disappear and destroy itself, returning to whatever had created him in the first place. It came slowly, very slowly until finally he disappeared entirely. Grosse Mann however panicked, know what came after death for him and that truly scared him. It was not somewhere that he wanted to return to but he knew that he was going there. His own Haloed energy ripped him from the insides out until Grosse Mann was dead. Dead Weight however was different, Dead Weight was returning to the shadows where he had come from. Although he would have liked to spend more time on planet Earth in his own body, if this was how he would be forced to go then that was the way of Necromancy. Dead Weight would be mourned but how the shadows claimed him and more importantly why the shadows claimed him would remain a mystery to them all…

When one is touched with killing intent by Haloed energy, it is not only their life that is removed from their body but their body, every memory of them. Gone.

 Removing Tiberius from the timeline took quite a lot for the Haloed energies to handle, as they did not only edit him out of time and space but rewrite time itself too. Not something that they had to do with everything (and not something which was easy…) This did not bode well with the universe and seeing this and it needed a remedy before it tore itself apart in confusion and chaos. Sometimes however… things remedy themselves…

Tome: Determined Boneheads

Jacob packed up his things, quickly. The Noble Alliance would be coming for him and he knew that. Clumsily he package things into his bag, thinking that he had taken and needless lamp with him…

 In the shadows he saw something flicker but ignored it, mistaking it for his own shadowed hands. Although his hands did not end in claws as he recalled.

 Jacob slammed the suitcase shut and compressed it using his great mind and mechanical knowledge. Bright lights flickered outside and then he heard the sinister death call of a man’s voice he had heard before:

 “Jacob Grantham… we’ve come to take you to a nice, cosy cell…”

 Jacob swore quietly and whirled around, the suitcase dropped as he saw what was still flickering in the shadows. It opened and the clothes spilled out. The needless lamp smashed.

 In his fear some lights flickered on and off, the faceless face of the man waiting, his six arms flailing in blood lust.

 “Exactly where I wanted to be,” Grosse Mann’s voice purred in Jacob’s mind. “Mr Grantham… at last…”

 Grantham backed himself up against the wall… and then the screaming started…

 The true events raced past his eyes in his dying moments. Dead Weight sacrificing himself to save the Paladin. Grosse Mann disassembling himself and the Paladin too.

 “Who was that Paladin?” the man asked himself drunk on the last thoughts that his dead mind could manage, “Ah yeah…”

 “…Tiberius…”



To Be a God

Death's imvolvement becomes iminent and as we look through the story, there are clues about a future storyline... start your ideas in the comments section and mark the date (if you can find it...) in the diary.
 Unit that time... enjoy...

Tome: When the Night Falls

Chapter 7 Continued...

Death wove through the fabric of time and space as but a shadow and so caused no disturbance to anyone or anything as he rode on its mists. Although he was angry, and his angriness almost made him disturb everything by jumping out at the wrong point in time.
 In there he could see all of time itself and see space being woven far, far into the distance until it was out of his eyesight and everything became an inky blackness of empty madness and blurred with shining stars.
 From here, Death could see that place, the place which must never be disturbed lest the Sorcerer’s darkest time be unfolded back into life. His son had done enough to stop that from happening. The worst thing was that it was his apprentice that had caused it.
 Death had seen the pain in his Son’s eyes when he had witnessed that… So much pain. He gripped his staff with both hands tighter in comfort. That was something that he had not wanted to see nor confess to himself.
 Although where he was going, it was before this. That place, although untouchable, was unstoppable and that time was coming ever so quickly. Quicker and quicker.
 “I hate the 1^st of December…” Death grumbled as he passed silently through the time frame to where he needed to be.
 Then he stopped and peered into the ghosts of time and hesitated. Was this the time that he was supposed to be at? Was it here that he should be?
 His memories were so old now… older than time. That was a very long time ago and yet no time at all. As a God, it was as if his future had been planned for him and implanted in his mind. It was his solemn duty to answer to this call and be there when that time came.
 It was when Gods decided to break the Laws of Time that it became dangerous. Even Gods could become greedy with their power, much like human beings. There was only one time that Death had been forced to do this but that time was long gone and trapped away somewhere that not even he could remember where it was…
 So he peered into the ghosts and saw Grosse Mann and Filius Mortis, brawling with each other to a very bitter ending. This was where he was supposed to be at this point in time. Death tentatively, carefully tore away at the ghosts revealing the true time and seeing the true colours. The blood of spirits still blackened Grosse Mann’s jaw and Mortis’s scythe still rotted in deep browns and ugly greens.
 Death slipped into the room beside the most unassuming man as he hid, bleeding in the soil. Back down and pressing himself in a desperate attempt to hide. A Paladin did the same thing farther over, clutching its bleeding arm. Rarely had Death seen Paladins bleed so this was a teat for him.
 As his form settled, the man turned around and looked straight at Death and his one eye gasping.
 Death lay one long bony finger on his skull hushing the man before he could say anything and he disappeared into the shadows of the room before anyone else could notice. The master of Necromancy still displaying his unparalleled powers in his own, subtle way.
 Number 47 looked over at Tiberius whom looked carefully over the soil hill as the soldiers of the Cult of the Mechanics watched attentively so did he. Although not the fight. At the soldiers.
 Tiberius was waiting, even while he bled himself out for the perfect moment to strike them down. His hand not resting properly on the wound and ready to make a knee-jerk reaction to reach for his huge axe. The chain around his wrist rattled a little as he shuffled uncomfortably.
 He was on edge and rightly so. Paladins were always on edge when they were fighting, if anything it helped them, that slightly paranoid look in their cold eyes filling them with the protective urge that drove them forward strike after relentless strike.
 Number 47 let his own eyes gaze over the hill taking the occasional glance at the epic fight that was taking place. Mortis’s kick had killed most of the soldiers anyway as they were flattened under Grosse Mann’s body but the four-hundred and fifty year old entity refused to die as it got up from another bone breaking punch that the Bio-Mechanical sent its way.
 Then it seemed as if it was all over with one great sundering blow that Grosse Mann landed. His jaw clamped around Filius Mortis’s shoulder and picked him up, the spirit of the Bio-Mechanical seeped out and black spirit blood drooled over Grosse Mann’s chin and fell in pools on the floor.
 Cheers arose from the crowds of soldiers and then Death leapt out and flew over the soil hill shouting, “No more,” and flew into battle action himself.
 Scythe flashing darkly as it spun around into a battle stance and rent a great gash through Grosse Mann’s shadowed suit and body. But the wound healed instantly and the two looked each other in whatever pair of eyes the two had left.
 Death’s one eye and where Grosse Mann’s eyes would be had he had any…
They locked there for nothing but half a second before they were at each others throat with blade and claw. Necromancy and Haloed energy. God verses God.

The Filius Mortis Method.

Filius Mortis has arrived and he's willing to take on the God... his way... With a pair of fists and his trusty (rusty) scythe. But whom will come out victorius in the end of this battle of Titans?
 The God or the Bio-Mechanical?
 ...enjoy...

Tome: When the Night Falls

Chapter 7

The Necromancer power coursed down Mortis’s arm and he clamped his open hand onto Grosse Mann’s face and tried to pry the mechanical implants away from it. Two cameras to aid the human’s seeing do doubt. He heard their lenses crack and snap, pieces of glass throwing themselves to the ground as he pulled harder until finally one of them came loose. Clamping a steely hand on Grosse Mann’s shoulder he stopped himself from falling to the ground and dropped one camera.
 Clambering the foot of space back up to Grosse Mann’s face he let loose a rushed, snapping fist that broke the other camera away in a quick burst.
 “Why are you here Grosse Mann,” Mortis growled in his telepathic link to Grosse Mann’s mind.
 “This is not my doing, Mortis believe me…” Grosse Mann groaned quite clearly pained.
 A quick jab from one of his stabbing hands sent the Bio-Mechanical down to the ground where it rolled backwards almost crushing one of the soldiers under his immense weight.
 Throwing himself back up, Mortis fought off the soldiers of the Cult of Mechanics and issued them a clear warning hiss of tortured metal whining at the back of his Bio-Mechanical throat. At the back of that throat two blades clicked against each other allowing the Bio-Mechanical to alter the cry as it wished to do so or not. A warning growl was easy for those two worn plates. It was instinct…
 Mortis reached for his scythe, “How can I believe that?” Grosse Mann battered him away and sent him skating across the floor, his claws dug in to try and stop him from moving to far over making a terribly high pitched scratching. Mortis threw himself up and kicked one of the soldiers out of his way and grabbed his scythe. As the soldier staggered backwards he whipped the end of the haft up and into the man’s bottom jaw sending him up and then crashing back down to Earth.
 Mortis turned around and pointed his staff out forwards as Grosse Mann came flying towards him, six arms flailing behind him and jaws wide open in a wide, gaping black hole with the blood a thousands of souls spattered across his jaws. That could never be cleaned off of his jaw, not even by death itself.
 Acting quickly, Mortis sent his scythe straight out forwards and let the shadow energy emit out of the end of the haft on his staff, the Necromancy shadowed the God but it passed through it unscathed by the usually lethal energy.
 Mortis only had time to say, “Impressive,” before the monster collided with his form and catapulted him through the air before he crashed against the wall. Grosse Mann stopped beside him seconds later.
 A clawed hand was raised up and the Haloed energies flowed around the nails and glowed hot. Mortis had no doubt that it would sear through even his Bio-Mechanical skin.
 The claw darted down and Mortis barely rolled out of the way avoiding the attack. From the holster on his side he brought up his pistol and sent the bullet casings through Grosse Mann’s skull taking some more machinery with them. Burying themselves in some of the machines workings or taking them inside the head with the shot. As ever, Grosse Mann did not bleed but it had severed something somewhere. A link to someone was broken and Grosse Mann almost fell to the floor staggered by the severed link, the Haloed energy died away from the claws around his hand.
 Mortis threw himself up and secondly threw a balled fist at Grosse Mann’s face, the use of magic where he had gone wrong now deciding on sheer and old fashioned brute force. The monster fell backwards before being hit with a monumental kick from Mortis that sent it across the room and throwing soldiers out of the way or crushing them under its weight.
 Mortis collected his scythe from the ground and inspected its rusting blade before sheathing it across his back and raising his clenched fists.
 “You want me to stop this, Grosse Mann? Then I’ll stop this,” the telepathic link stopped there and Mortis spoke in the words of the Human English Language, “I’ll stop this alright…”

The Gods Won't Help You Now

With Grosse Mann resurecteded and the Cult of the Mechanics coming for Number 47 and Tiberius's head. What will happen now? What will happen to Grosse Mann's new body? What will happen to the Agents trapped fighting the Cult of Mechanics?
 And perhaps more importanly...
 Who (if anyone) will stop this reborn God?

Tome: When the Night Falls

Chapter 6

Filius Mortis could sense Grosse Mann’s movements. Still. Unmoving. As if he were sleeping but his soul was dead.

 And yet, an essence of life wound around his body. An essence of  something that had been handled by caring, loving hands however these hands were also clumsy and stupid. Tampering in things that they should not…

 Mortis stayed and watched intently at the goings on, seeing the Necromancy in Grosse Mann’s body dwindle and die but only to be replaced by something greater. Something new.

 Something much more evil…

 So Filius Mortis stayed. Intrigued and watching this evil conjure itself up into Grosse Mann’s body. Waiting to see the power tear the daemon apart, that was what he stayed to see.

 But no.

 The power did not tear him apart, instead it stayed. It played with Grosse Mann’s mind and soul.

 This scared Filius Mortis.

 This truly scared him.

 So he swore and he turned and ran. He kept running and running until he fell through the shadows and then... He did not stop...

Dead Weight took one long good stare at the door before he started to whack away at it with the broomstick. Holding it by its end so as to get more leverage, all he managed to do in that dark place was break another broom. Its wooden haft fell to the floor with the mop promptly following with a dull flop.

 He sighed and sat back down amidst the assortment of brooms, mops and the hoover that he had already broken.

 Dead Weight took one great long look at the door and closed his eyes concentrating. He could feel every shadow in that door, even in the smallest of spaces there was shadow and he concentrated hardest on them. Those solitary little ones rather than the larger, more bulky shadows. His eyes opened and the door imploded, showering him with the shavings of wood.

 The door fell off of its hinges and fell to the ground and smashed apart.

 Dead Weight picked himself up off of the ground and took a look at his hand in the light. It was fading so very quickly. His hand disappearing back to the shadows which it used.

 Dead Weight staggered out of the broom closet and looked down the corridor. In front of him was one single man, he was covered in wood splinters and held a key in his hand. His eyes were hidden under a baseball hat and his moustache was covered in little bits of wood splinters.

 They shared a long sceptical look at each other before Dead Weight pushed the man out of his way and darted off down the corridor. He had no weapons, his sword was hidden by somewhere no doubt and he had no idea where he was going…

 But by hell he was going to get out of here.

Number 47 threw himself out again and shot down another two, wounded and out of action before throwing himself back against the soil. Lead threw itself seemingly aimless at the soil and Number 47 could feel every vibration as they did.

 Tiberius held his axe up and sent another careening back down the soil hill as the flat of his axe met with his face. Another tried the same as the last but an almighty backhander from the Paladin sent him flying across the battle scene.

 This did not come without its disadvantages however as bullets sundered the warrior throwing him to the ground weakened. His arm’s armour was totally shattered and in some places Number 47 could see some of the skin that had been plastered onto the Paladin Armour. Tiberius bled out the red lifeblood of the humans as he crawled weakly back into a place of safety before anymore bullets blasted him apart.

 Even the impenetrable Paladin had taken quite the battering this battle.

 Then the chatter of gunfire stopped and everything went strangely silent. Something in the air had changed slightly. Something new had entered the room. Something new to this world.

 Number 47 could see the fumes rising up, polluted and blackened. They smelt of something that he had smelt before. Smelt before in a place and a time that had never existed.

 His heart raced as the memories began to claw back into his mind and into his mind’s eye. He knew that smell. He knew it very well…

 Number 47 stuck his head up cautiously and looked out across the battle scene where something new had materialised.

 “Grosse Mann?” Number 47 instantly though in shock but then looked on at the being more closely.

 Yes it had six, flailing arms that were primed and ready to kill at any point, yes it still had that faceless face that looked ever so ponderously at the crowds around it. The kill thirst set deep in its mind. That was always obvious but there was something different. The way in which its six arms squirmed in its black suit was clumsy and automated. Clunky almost. As if this were but a metallic mimic of Grosse Mann. His true form was totally and utterly lifeless and devoid of movement that was not controlled. Its legs stood weakly and the arms that did not move flopped back down against its side. Truly a very poor imitation.

 Although nobody could deny the glowing potency of the wires and pipes that snaked around Grosse Mann’s body, all of them clutching to the power pack on his back. Number 47 pointed his pistol at the imitation of Grosse Mann and fired, the shot flew through the air and simply stopped.

 Grosse Mann had simply looked at it and the bullet had stopped many meters away from Grosse Mann’s body. It was closer to Number 47’s. Then it flew backwards and shattered Number 47’s arm. He dived and landed cradling his broken arm resisting the uncontrollable urge to cry out.

 “What was that? How did it do that?” Number 47 thought as he breathed heavily trying to forget the pain.

 “Help me Number 47…” the thoughts seeped through. Not a voice that he had heard before but he could guess easily whom it was, “Help me…”

 “Why should I, you’ve hurt me enough already…” Number 47 groaned and continued to breath heavily.

 “I am not controlling my body, Number 47 nor my magic… the Cult of Mechanics… it is them that is doing this… Help me…” Grosse Mann’s thought groaned across the psychic message.

 Number 47 took a very cautious look up over the soil hillside and looked at Grosse Mann. Why would he be combined with this machine and moving about as gracefully as a baby’s first steps? Definitely not voluntarily, he was sure of that.

The meek man’s mind screamed in agony as if it was being pulled apart from the inside out and yet it was enjoying this. The meek man controlled the nervous centre, it could shut the being down or make it stronger. It controlled the power of those vats of blood and…

 It was all in his hands.

 All regards to his personal safety went to the wind as he sent the Haloed energy fleeting across the room, spiralling and decimating everything it touched. It clipped one of the Soldiers of the Cult of Mechanics and he instantly fell to the ground screaming, his particles falling apart and to the ground as he quite literally disassembled on the spot. There was no blood to be spilled as it too was broke apart until there was not even a memory of the man, the ancient power of the Haloed energy wiping the man from history completely and entirely.

 This was the power of the Haloed Ones and it was something that all would eventually come to fear very much. The energy spiralled around until the soil that had hid the Noble Alliance agents was spiralling through the air in dirty, foggy gouts of mud and dust until even that disappeared from the annals of time memorial.

 Number 47 hid himself, grazes from the explosion of gunfire and battle wounds lay all over his body. He still clutched his arm in pain.

 Tiberius didn’t look to healthy himself barely avoiding a direct hit from the spiralling Haloed energy. Their cover gone and that new Grosse Mann here, Number 47 hid himself as best he could amidst the remaining dirt waiting for ensuing battle.

 Then he saw him standing there all of a sudden out of nowhere. His two tails spun in the windiness of the room but his jacket was spotless. His face was hidden by the Necromancy spell that he had cast over it and as always his fedora was tipped low. Two blue specks in the gloom of the spell shone through, stern and cold looking as ever. His scythe was not drawn and his arms were crossed in defiance. His fingers drummed rhythmically across his arm as he looked down from the top of the soil hill at Grosse Mann.

 He made one gesture of a fight before the two were upon each other. He reached for his staff and in an instant they were fighting. The God and the Bio-Mechanical.

 Number 47 smiled.

 Filius Mortis was here…