Familial Strife

"Oh, stop being so melodramatic." Lisma spat scornfully. "The most you ever did for anyone was flatter them. At least Osk and I sought to improve our lot."

Shora shook her head with a wry smile. "Just a bit of teasing. At this point, as I've explained to Horchal, I think the best we can do is embrace it." She looked at the various unconscious students laying about the floor and gestured. "Hence, that. We will allow the Demon King's verse to persist."

High above, at the top of the tower's staircase, the door of Azazel's throne room creaked open as Gehain peered out at his comrades bickering. The King of Fallen had vacated the tower along with the rest before the ritual even began.

Lisma hesitated briefly, then recalled their pressing circumstances. "Fine, so be it. More importantly, I need you to deliver a message. The king must know his enemy comes." Lisma gave the message as quickly and concisely as she could, before grasping hold of Shora's tongue and dragging her along to the door.

"Ah! Ow! I god id alrighd?" Shora protested as well as she could manage with a clenched tongue.

Lisma let go with a nod, "Then go." She thrust open the door and tossed the unfortunate toad goddess outside.

"Will you ever learn to be kind to your comrades?" A sorrowful voice echoed out from the skies above as Shora landed in a heap. Lisma's neck snapped upwards as she searched for the source of the voice. She saw nothing indicating the presence she suspected however.

"Having trouble, sister? Have you already forgotten our old tracking games? I will never be found if I choose not to be." The voice of Rygald remained mournful even as his words were taunting.

"What's your plan, Rygald?" Lisma growled in open hostility. While she would've liked to approach as a comrade then stab him in the back, Rygald's current actions already displayed his intent for conflict. Also, the rapidly changing circumstances had thrown her into emotional overload. She couldn't fake anything right now.

"I will do what I must." Rygald explained no further, and even as he remained unseen, Lisma could feel his subtle manipulations of the world via his domain. The singing vengeful spirits within the tower's light little by little began slowing down their wretched verse.

Realizing his intent, Lisma screamed, "You son of a bitch!" She materialized a javelin from nothing, and reared back, ready to throw.

"Lykre il" Lisma muttered these words and a yellow glow radiated around herself and her weapon. She sprinted forward a small distance, then spun in a semi-circle and blindly released the javelin. The enkallibar-tipped projectile darted through the air with a whistling sound before striking something with a thud and a splat.

"Aaah!" Rygald screamed as green dust sprouted from where the javelin struck. He became visible at that point, the black metal of the spear embedded in his chest. Slowly pulling the javelin from the puncture wound, Rygald sighed, "You and your damn luck." After removing the javelin completely, Rygald threw it into the air, where it vanished. Then his eyes spun and glowed with eerie ghost-lights as green and blue energies radiated from his palms; green to the ground, blue to the skies.

From below, a host of skeletal limbs erupted in fountains of rubble, grasping at the two goddesses present. From the distant skies, melodic howls echoed forth as blue radiance shone, spirits of the dead flying rapidly their way. The elite enchanted regiment surrounding the premises unconsciously stepped back, shaking in their armor.

"Shora, go now!" Lisma once more grasped hold of her fellow goddess tongue, and flung her far away from the grasp of Rygald's minions. As she flew through the air, The goddess of sanity, sophistry, and wealth reverted her form and landed lightly on the ground far away from the battlefield.

Shora stood up and brushed the dirt off her white sundress. "Thanks, Lis!" She called out, feigning cuteness. Then she skipped towards King Gel-ad's palace, her skirt wagging as she kicked it this way and that, leaving the vicinity of the fight.

By the tower, the streets split wide as numerous skeletal undead heaved themselves from where they lay, joints cracking and bones clattering eerily. Armed and armored skeletons took ready stances as they poured from the fissure, swords and spears all aimed at Lisma, who stood before the tower entrance. Following behind them rose undead beasts on bony wings, some with sharp, piercing beaks, others with long snouts and snarling rows of teeth, while others still bore long, razor-sharp fangs dripping with venom. Using the mysterious ghostly, green energy of undeath to fly, they blanketed the skies, circling Ischuros with rapid movements and casting flickering shadows onto the running, panicking citizens of the city below. Their screeches echoed out in haunting, obsessive rage, though it was like music to the ears of those subject to the Demon King's earlier cursed cries.

While all this was happening, Lisma watched on in amusement, a smirk ever-present on her pretty face. The surrounding soldiers of Urmu's enchanted regiment, however, were shaking and backing away, nearly at their breaking point. Even with their enhanced bodies enchanted by the fruits of their research, they had no business in a battle of gods.

"Swarm her." The calm and quiet command that exited Rygald's lips was instantly obeyed. In true undead fashion, the armored skeletons rushed haphazardly forward, thrusting out their weapons as they mindlessly engaged in combat. The flying undead creatures formed flocks that dive-bombed Lisma from above, attempting to use their claws, teeth, or beaks to tear away at her hair and face.

As the undead all rushed to one point, the enchanted soldiers turned tail, and began to make haste away from the site. Their courage had completely broken. Suddenly, with a loud sonorous boom, a figure crashed before them in a shower of rubble. As the dust cleared, they saw their commander, Urmu, bright sigils of red, blue, and yellow illuminated wherever skin was exposed on his body.

"Where are you lot headed off to?" Urmu asked coldly, glaring at his subordinates from the hole he'd made with his landing. "Get back in formation!" His glowing sigils flashing brightly as he yelled, and he marched through the retreating regiment back towards the chaotic battle.

Having had some energy and boldness injected into them by Urmu's orders and the nonchalant way he marched towards danger, the soldiers all turned as one following their commander in orderly steps. They seemed like completely different soldiers after their leader arrived. Headed by Urmu, the perimeter was once again formed.

"Do not engage, merely hold this line until the king sends reinforcements." Urmu instructed his men, and watched on as Lisma was under siege, not the slightest bit of concern in his features.

Urmu wasn't being callous, it wasn't a concerning thing for the goddess of luck, wisdom, and war. Beneath the smothering presence of the undead horde, dodging and ducking the occasional spear or sword that came close enough to threaten, Lisma wore a contented smile.

"Lykre ilsum" The goddess once more muttered a chant, and stepped suddenly into the fray of seething undead. A spear shot towards her eye, but a small bird darted into its path before it could strike, exploding in a puff of blue feathers and diverting the weapon. A sword was swung at her neck, as she walked forward determinedly. The wielder's skeletal hand fell off without warning, sparing her once more. As she pressed onward, no matter what the attack, in some way or another they would fail, seemingly by pure coincidence.

Watching this scene, Rygald raised his arm upwards towards the spirits that had finally arrived. "Possess." A simple word was all he needed. The shrieking, wailing spirits he had forcibly sucked out of the Demon King's clouds madly rushed at the facial orifices of Lisma, attempting to overwhelm her consciousness with their own.

"Lykre Ilsumpre!" Lisma hastily spat out, finally using her greatest luck magic, 'Impossible Luck.' As her chant echoed out, out of sight of anyone, a small crack formed on a particular glyph in the enchantment wall holding up the city's protective barrier. A fierce wind suddenly swept through the streets of Ischuros, sending many of the city's people bowling over, nearly carrying them along with it. The glowing barrier that had surrounded their city since the new walls had been built flickered erratically, then suddenly vanished.

The sound of thousands of screaming voices erupted from the city streets, as both the living and the dead cried out in terror. Clouds that had long avoided the airspace above eagerly rushed in like a hungry swarm of black insects. When the air above had completely darkened with clouds, the spirits were already struggling to possess Lisma, surrounding her body and spinning violently as they sought to break down her psychological defenses.However, when the clouds arrived, the spirits halted and bucked away in pain and panic. The horde of ghostly beings scattered screaming like a fire had broken out, but before long, a powerful suction force stretched and lifted them into the looming cloud cover, vanishing from sight.

Rygald and Lisma were both momentarily frozen with shock, then Lisma applauded delightedly. "What wonderful luck!" She exclaimed, "Now try to use your spirits, brother." She chuckled lightly, before materializing a bow in her hands and a quiver full of arrows on her back. The bow was a glorious ivory recurve, with gold inlaid glyphs seemingly adding a magical effect, and a glistening string of some unknown divine metal.

Seeing her weapon, Rygald commanded his undead with a thought, and they formed a wall of defense around his person. "I never thought you would use that weapon on your own brother. Is our relationship so far gone?" Rygald looked to his lost sister in grief.

Lisma shook her head then nocked an arrow, aiming Rygald's way, "It isn't gone. Our relationship was always this." With that, Lisma loosed the arrow. At its fore slicing winds intersected, tearing apart bones on its way to Rygald, and in its wake a blazing fire erupted in a wide arc, reducing every undead along the way to ash.