Who Shall Yield, and Who Shall Wield [CLOSED]

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Who Shall Yield, and Who Shall Wield [CLOSED]

Post by Volksgeist » Fri Jun 14, 2019 8:17 pm

The prelude to Volksgeist's arrival was uncharacteristically curt.

Brilliant mauve flames spiraled across the space before the subterranean bunker; only a single burst of fire marked the Nation-Spirit's entry atop the desert sands, individual granules and swathes of dust heated to ungodly temperatures and outright crystallized into glass where his boots touched earth. He appeared to walk out of the gate from which he had apparated, his stride unbroken as the mist of fragmented ground settled around the epicenter of his translocation.

He could feel it here. Its presence called to him, and whether by choice or by mere chance, it was here, within this hidden compound. Who the structure belonged to and whether or not they guarded such a place was beyond the reach of his God-Sense, and at such a point in time, the Nation-Spirit did not necessarily care for an answer. The Olden Axe was here, and he would wait no longer in its retrieval. Though his body still ached with the wounds sustained during the destruction of Krakatau, he would brave any amount of pain to recover the armament of his fallen brother, surmount any foe which stood in his path.

The weapon had nearly been lost once before, in Rome. It would not happen here.

Stahlzahn was summoned to his hand in a brief pulse of indigo light, its holy blade catching the light of the Mojave and shining under the intense shroud of the sun which bore down upon the desert. Volksgeist approached the entryway to the laboratory with thundering footfalls and, without so much as a single instant of hesitation, rose the sword far above his plumed helmet before bringing the edge crashing down upon the blast doors of the bunker.


Desert was shattered under the force of the swing, a deafening shockwave erupting out into daybreak and leaving a magnificent crater where its blessed edge met earth. The Bladesmith's indomitable will was made manifest, every iota of his strength poured into the strike meant to tear the guarded compound in twain.

And yet, as the whirling dust settled and the earth cried out, the walls of the bunker remained standing-- damaged, visibly, but still unbroken.

All the exertion, all for naught.

The scorched blade of Stahlzahn fell to his side, point digging into the sanded ground as the Earthshaker stepped back once, twice. He gave a heaving breath, raised the saber once more, and struck, over and over, as many times as was needed to crack the shell which housed the Olden Axe. His blows were weaker, softer than the initial strike which gave the world pause, but they thundered out into the Mojave nonetheless. Volksgeist roared out into the scalding sands, his anger building with every resounding blow.


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