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The evening began for Belphegor in fire and blood, a good way for an evening to begin for a demon. He and Sister Sixtus made a handsome couple, especially once they were dressed in the heavy inscribed robes of bride and groom. Belphegor could feel the heavy weight of pure gold beneath the symbolic sash and heavy black cloth, enough weight to hamper even his strength. Sixtus looked less slowed down, though it was hard to tell what she was focused on. She seemed off by herself, gazing up at her staff even as Rocheambeau tried to catch her attention. Finally he did, and Sixtus joined Belphegor before the huge black altar that seemed the center of their ceremonies.

The cultists, with a few noticeable gaps in their ranks, formed a double line behind the "bride" and "groom" as Rochambeau began to chant, raising his hands in imitation of the giant hands on his robes. "Oh Shatachna the Iron Queen! Malador the Mystic! We pray to thee most unspeakable bride and groom of pain and undeath to summon forth the dead-that-are-not-dead! We call upon thee through the dark groom and the unspeakable bride! We call upon the River Styx! We call upon Sekhmet the Devourer! Give unto us that which you have drowned! Give unto us that which you have eaten! Give unto us he who has already left your ranks! Give unto us the first sacrifice to sanctify! Give us...Varney Orloff!"

As he spoke, his hands turned red, then black, matching the hands on his robe as they began to bleed freely. The mixed blood poured down upon the vessel before him, filling the urn of ashes placed upon the black, maleficiently engraved altar before him. Rochambeau shot a significant look at Sixtus, who a moment later concentrated on her staff even as she squeezed Belphegor's demonic hand. There was a flare of black light and a wash of necromantic energy as the cultists behind them began to chant, and then suddenly the ashes inside the urn rose up as one. The shifting grey ash, the mark of a long-dead vampire, coalesced in rhythm with the chanting, transforming itself in the space of long seconds into the figure of a man. But not a man. With huge, clawed fingers and bulbous black eyes, with pointed fangs and pale skin, there was no mistaking the man in the theatrical red cape and three-point suit as anything other than a vampire.

"I live again!" Varney Orloff hissed malevolently.

A moment later, the roof exploded inward, scattering the screaming cultists. Overhead were the figure of seven heroes in the grip of one's telekinetic abilities, gazing down at the bride, the groom, the priest, and the unexpected guest at this most diabolical of weddings. Justice had arrived.

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Hellbound was dropped to the ground a little more gently than he'd have liked. The boy was tough and heavy, Scarab probably could have dropped him like a ton of bricks on one of the bad guys and gotten an early strike off.

Ah, well, such would be for future tactics if they had time to actually train. Right now he was remembering the words of Avenger and going after Sixtus' staff. At least he hoped that's what he was doing. There was a scary looking chick holding a staff. It'd been impressed upon him that they needed to divide the two, so off he went.

Hellbound lunged for the staff in a desperate attempt to wrench control of the artifcat away from its owner.

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Arrowhawk landed deftly on his feet, in a slight crouch. By the time he'd stood upright, he already had his bow in hand and a sharp-tipped arrow nocked. Ok, priority seems to be to get the staff, but I'm not the best to guard it. After all, I need both hands to use the bow. So, let's just fight things. "Hey, vampire!" called Arrowhawk at Orloff. "Suck on this!" He let an arrow fly into the monster's shoulder.

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"We have reason why these two should not be joined. And we're not about to hold our peace."

Hovering near the breached roof, The Scarab raised one hand to her head and directed the other, palm-first and fingers outstretched, toward the "wedding party." Her head and arms glowed with a golden aura. A similar golden aura sprang up around Sister Sixtus. The aura quickly coalesced into a swarm of spectral scarab beetles, who skittered up her body and burrowed into her head.

Sister Sixtus felt as though her brain were a composed of bubble-wrap, and The Scarab reached her fingers inside the Sister's skull and pinched one of the inner bubbles until it popped.

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Doing a bit of a drop, Wesley lands crouched with one hand on the grouns. Instanly springing up he notices two of his companions on the bride but no one on the groom. Smiling wickedly at the groom with a bow, he begins to pulsate with a dark purple aura, "We would like to congratulate you on this honored occasion. Let me be the first to give you your wedding gift!" The demon begins to pulsate with the same purple aura.

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Sixtus screamed as Hellbound ripped the staff right out of her grasp, the skinny, big-eyed woman no match for the gladiator's awesome grip. "It's not that easy, bunky!" No sooner had she spoken than tendrils of black, eerie radiation came boiling out of the staff, burying themselves in her hand and ripping the staff right out of Hellbound's grasp in return. She laughed in insane triumph a moment before staggering beneath the weight of Scarab's psychic onslaught, madness in her eyes as Scarab's psychic energies just barely skated off the mad necromantic energies pouring their way through her brain. "I'm not going back! You can't make me!"

She screamed in triumph and slammed the staff to the ground, wave after wave of unspeakable necromantic energies pouring from the staff, washing over the assembled heroes and villians in the roof, pulling at the life energies of every living being there. And killing every cultist in the room. "Nooo!" Sixtus screamed in horror as every cultist in the room collapsed into individual piles of blackened ash and bone inside their untouched robes, throwing her arms up in horror! "Look at what you made me dooo!" Groaning, bleeding from every orifice, Rochambeau fell behind her, reaching up just in time to grab onto the startled figure of the arrowed Count Orloff, driving the arrow in the vampire's shoulder deeper into the vampire's chest. And with a startled, horrified shriek of "Not again!" the Nazi vampire collapsed into a pile of ash again, his ashes mixing with Rochambeau's blood as he fell across the blackened altar, ash and blood dripping down inside the occult obsidian obelisk.

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The aura rising around the dark red-scaled demon dissipated before fully forming, though he did see it. And its source.

"I'm gonna-"

Standing as he was next to the source of the necrotic pulse, it took the blast full-on, and was stunned a moment as deathly energies raced through its body and caused several scales to slough off.

... ouch

As it happened, he was in a good position to notice something unusual. Unfortunately, he had no idea what it was.

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The carnage, the absolute carnage. Moira took it all in. In her hesitation she saw crazy things happen. Bugs attacking someone's brain, glowing purple people, and many, many people die.

She braced herself when the soul-searing blast erupted and with it, her soul burned a little. The wielder of such power was being accosted. Perfect distraction. Moira full sprinted towards her trying for a tackle into the wall.

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Avenger landed in a neat tuck and roll as necromantic energies washed over him, finding no purchase in his body. With the two powerhouses grappling with the insane woman with the staff, Avenger muttered a vile curse as he took in the staggering demon before him. "Hey, you! Round two!"" Avenger was angry and urgently nervous about what they were really facing, so he charged Belphegor full on, slamming his fist directly into the demon's midsection.

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He brought the house down. Well, the ceiling at least. Floating down to land with the others though off to one side, it became chaos in an instant. People dying as the way of energy lashed out all around. Dark Star reeled as well, wincing as the energy tore into him. He shook his head and pushed past it all as he surveyed the area and assessed his options.

No fiddling with gravity at the moment. A huge 'demon' of all things and the staff wielder were too dangerous. Hellhound and Divine were tackling the staff wield lunatic...he had no shot there. He saw Avenger charge up and land a crushing punch into the demon's gut...which seemed to do nothing. That sinched it right there.

Dark Star extended on hand and thrust it at the demon, blasting it with his Graviton Beam. The beam slammed directly into the demon's chest over Avenger's head. The impact tossed the hellspawn like a rag doll, smashing him right into the precious altar. "Think I got him..." Dark Star said to himself with a wry smile.

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Arrowhawk, Dark Star, and Scarab noticed something odd about Avenger. The masked hero was struck full-on by the waves of magical death exploding from the staff of Sixtus, but he shrugged the magical energy off entirely. It wasn't a matter of surviving the awful waves of cold and numbness tugging everyone's soul. It was a matter of them not affecting him at all. Scarab, at least, knew perfectly well why that was.

-

Scarab recognized the markings on the altar, in particular the name written all around them. Lord Lugat Vorkolaka had been a monstrous fiend in the Balkans through most of the later Renaissance and the birth of the Enlightenment, an incredibly powerful, wicked vampire lord wielding the powers of the shadows themselves. Heru-Ra might not know every vampire in the world; but he sure as heck recognized one who'd been a personal correspondent of Tan-Aktor back in the dark days of the Inquisition.

-

Hellbound and Divine pinned Sister Sixtus against the wall, the mad-eyed cultist bizarrely flat-eyed and still as the two powerhouses smashed her against the wall so hard that the plaster above her broke. She didn't make a sound, though, instead eying them both as her lips slowly pulled back from her teeth. Across the room, Belphegor shrugged off Avenger's punch only to be smashed into the altar behind him. The singed demon half-shattered the stone, slumping heavily as he slipped into unconsciousness.

Inside the broken altar, human blood, the ashes of a dead vampire, and the power of a demon briefly coalesced. This resulted in an interesting thing. The lid of the 'altar', now revealed as a coffin, shattered as a single blackened blade burst through the stone, bizarre arcane symbols visible on the steel as they punched their way through behind a pale hand gripping a haft set with a skull. The altar broke in the next moment, top going one way and bottom the next, sending the unconscious Belphegor to the ground and Arrowhawk falling back to avoid being pinned.

At the sight of the melee at the altar, Sister Sixtus gave a triumphant, glorious scream. "The Red King rises. HE RISES!" Her words formed a sussurating chorus in the room as the figure of a man emerged from the altar. His hair was black and curly, his beard cut short in the old style, his black leather clothes creaking and rotten with age. This man was dead; his flesh was dessicated, but his eyes burned with a red intelligence and his decrepit state couldn't hide a handsome, fallen face. Confusion shone on his face as he looked over the others, all of them, the dead and alive alike, before suddenly his gaze fell on the Scarab's.

"Heru-Ra! You will pay for the deaths of my followers! Tan-Aktor will surely reward me with the blood of a thousand virgins for your head! But first...I THIRST!" And at that, he opened his mouth inhumanely wide, and the room plunged into absolute darkness. A moment later, there was the sound of metal on flesh...

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Eleanor Roosevelt has been variously quoted through history as saying "It's better to light a single candle than to curse the darkness." Hellbound, unfortunately, wouldn't know Eleanor Roosevelt from Ella Fitzgerald.

"Fragging darkness!" He cursed at the unnatural blackness of the air. "Somebody turn the lights back on!"

Hellbound couldn't do squat if he couldn't see. Somewhere in the back of his mind was the awareness that others had supposedly learned to fight while blindfolded and such, but he'd never worked on that particular trick. So far as he knew there was no way to smack something you couldn't aim at.

Although... he did have one asset to his name at the moment. The Wicked Sister was still pinned against the wall by both Moira and himself. That was, if nothing else, taking at least one opponent out of the fight.

"Hey!" He growled at the chick he couldn't see, "You move, I snap your neck. You got that?"

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Arrowhawk had quickly rolled behind the altar and somehow completely shielded from the blast. This respite was short-lived, as the Red King burst through the altar and forced Arrowhawk to move back as the wreckage scattered.

Then the demon filled the room with darkness, and before Arrowhawk had a chance to evade the blow, had thrust his sword through Arrowhawk's side. "AARGH!" he roared in pain, staggering backwards as the sword was withdrawn. That'll definitely need looked at, but hopefully it didn't hit anything too vital.

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"Heru-Ra! You will pay for the deaths of my followers! Tan-Aktor will surely reward me with the blood of a thousand virgins for your head! But first...I THIRST!"" And at that, he opened his mouth inhumanely wide, and the room plunged into absolute darkness. A moment later, there was the sound of metal on flesh...

Lugat Vorkolaka?! This is not good. This is very, very bad. FOCUS, dammit! We're sitting ducks in this darkness. He'll kill us all, unless...

"Lugat Vorkolaka. I see you're still hiding in the dark corners of the world like the carrion-eating rat you've always been."

The Scarab shut her eyes, folded her limbs together, and collapsed inward into a floating crouch, like a swimmer in the middle of a cannonball frozen in mid-air. She gritted her teeth, focusing all of her attention inward, sweeping her mind clear of all thought, all fear.

"We've seen now what the stuff of your soul looks like. The coagulated black tar of an immortal with nothing to show for all his years but suffering and desecration. But this...this is what enlightenment looks like."

This is really going to hurt. But it might buy the rest the time they need to end this.

Like the splitting of an atom, the stuff of her very soul exploded outward. Her inner light expanded to fill the entire house. By all appearances, the sun itself rose from behind her, from within her. Golden shafts of light pierced through every crack of a doorjamb, every tiny space between a curtain and a window pane. Shafts of light shot out for hundreds of miles in every possible direction, including directly above them. A beacon shone up through the hole in the roof that could be seen from outer space.

Clad in this golden glow, The Scarab stood defiantly above the battlefield, her cape billowing behind her as if held aloft by some unseen wind.

"You have nowhere left to hide, you disgusting little worm. If you want me, then come and get me."

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The magnificent light radiating from Scarab's pure enlightened soul shattered the cloud of murky darkness around the vampire elder, exposing him as he licked Arrohawk's blood off his sword with a malevolent expression on his face. He staggered beneath the awe-inspiring light, a glow that stabbed up to the heavens bright enough to be visible on Farside City. Before Lugat could act, though, Wesley's mutant command over the very powers of life and death reached out to ensnare the vampire's follower. Sixtus screamed and vomited, writhing in the grasp of her tormentors as she bucked in pure internal agony. With a supreme effort, summoning a last center of mad strength, Sixtus screamed through blood and vomit: "BURN!"

A blast of pure, raw, mystic energy came pouring from the tip of the staff, just missing Hellbound's head as it carved a hole in the fabric of reality itself. Through the hole, the assembled heroes and villians could see a scene from a monstrous nightmare: a world of bones and flesh, fire and pain, angels of teeth and bones and hunger flying through the nightmare sky overhead, a vision of Hellish torment equal to the nightmares of any Boschian nightmare. And through that hole strode a fiend like no other, a horned head like a bloody goat's skull, arms and legs that spoke of necromantic power like no other, blood and death dripping from every pore, a nightmare of pain and torment in every aspect of its gaze that promised to never end. The ground burned where he stood, the floor of the damaged house smoldering monstrously beneath the fiend. It stood big as a man, but promised more. What stood before the assembled heroes was nothing less than an undead demon.

"WHO DARES SUMMON THE GREATEST OF THE NECRO-KINGS?!"

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... damn, that was a powerful punch.

The dark red-scaled demon opened its eyes -- then squinted them due to the intesnity of the light radiating off Scarab -- and raised its head. And then it saw the portal and what lay beyond.

......... what kind of woman was I marrying?! Wait, no, not a real wedding... okay, what to do, what to do- ah! That kid, the one who tried to effect me with... something. He tried it on Sister Spooky, too. Let's see how strong his mind is, and how resistant he is to stereotyping and profiling.

Belphegor focused on Wesley Knight, pouring all of his cruelty and malice into the young man. They all think you're just a punk, a simple thug. Think you're nothing. You're a token, they don't really want you around.

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Moira thought long and hard within the few seconds of utter carnage. This woman had burned her soul. This woman had just summoned a demon. Desparate times called for desparate measures, but could she really take a life? Even though she had the power to crush this woman's skull at the moment, she still had some bit of human compassion. Her mind told her to do it, but her heart wouldn't let her. In anger and rage and fear, Moira reached back and slammed her fist into Sixtus's chest. A few broken bones and a sickening crunch, but Sixtus wouldn't be dead.

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Wesley felt a surge of hate ripple through him, a murderous loathing of his fellow heroes and everything they stood for. But he rallied as he stood there, remembering his own heroic deeds and the legacy of justice and honor that he stood for. He was poor, but he was rich in friends; he was black among white heroes, but what color was justice? He shook off the demonic intrusion into his mind, rallying behind what it meant to be a hero. A knight.

-

Moira's fist slammed into Sister Sixtus' chest, the mad cultist's eyes widening as ribs broke beneath Moira's awesome punch. With one last muttered obscenity and a final flare from the staff, the mad cultist slipped into unconsciousness. The staff fell out of her hand at that, rolling a few feet away as the black blade set at its head glimmered wickedly.

-

The sight of Hell and a monstrous demon-king struck fear into Jack's heart that he hadn't felt since the moment of his death. The sight of Hell; the sight of the fate of all damned souls, struck a chord deep into his undead heart. This is where you're going. This is where you belong! "No. No more. NO MORE!" He dropped Avenger's voice as he strode straight for the demon, fury boiling through his slow, cold blood like poison. "Demon!" He grabbed Belphegor by the neck, one-handed, hard enough to pop the skin underneath. "You want evil? I hope you choke on it!"

And with that, Avenger threw Belphegor through the doorway into Hell.

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The ever-lovin' Dark Star fired a beam of cosmic energy at the injured Arrowhawk, repairing the injured archer in a nimbus of pure light nearly blotted out by the celestial glow of the Scarab's empowered ka. Across the room, the Necro-King observed Avenger hurling Belphegor into the maw of the Hungry Hells with interest, seeming satisfied at the answer given him by the dark champion. "YOUR SACRIFICE IS ACCEPTED, MY SON. GO IN PEACE." The words of benediction from the dark undead fiend seemed to fill Avenger with nothing but horror, the hockey-masked vigilante backing up quickly when that horrible eye fell upon him. For the Necro-King's part, he turned and began heading back towards the opening.

"NO! I won't be cheated so easily!" Across the room, Lugat staggered back as Scarab's awesome power nearly blinded him, recovering himself with a Herculean effort. "I will feast on your blood! All of you!" Spurning the fallen staff as unworthy of a champion of darkness, he held his sword high and leapt into the air straight at the source of his pain. He swung his sword in a devastating arc, the mystic blade glimmering as it cut straight through Scarab's force field!

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Arrowhawk resisted the urge to cry out once again as he felt his wound knit up once again. This is why I do my own thing usually. Less bloody superpowers. Regaining a solid footing, he began firing a volley of arrows into the Red King, slowly backing away as he did so. "Don't enjoy your freedom too much, my liege," growled the Scotsman sarcastically through clenched teeth and the relentless twang of the bowstring.

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With the Sister being knocked unconscious, Hellbound was happy to let her slump to the ground forgotten. He complimented Moira on the nice shot she'd delivered and turned his attention towards their remaining foe.

"Red King, huh?" Hellbound glared at the demon. "Good thing I'm a by-god ace, then, 'cause you're about to get your ass trumped."

he strode forward with rapid determination and scooped up Sixtus' dropped staff. Wielding the magical apparatus like a baseball bat he came in at the King swinging for all he was worth.

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It all seemed to happen so fast. First Lugat leapt at the Scarab, his blade glancing off Heru-Ra's force field as the power of light itself repelled the blade wielded by the dark warrior. An instant later, Arrowhawk's rapid stream of arrows struck the fast-moving Lugat and ricocheted off the vampiric swordsman's skin. "I TASTED YOUR BLOOD ONCE! I CAN DO IT AGAIN!" Lugat roared at Arrowhawk, turning to face the Scottish archer.

And Hellbound, meanwhile, picked up the staff.

The voices came a moment later. OREN. DESTROY ALL THAT IS BEAUTIFUL. DEVOUR THEIR FLESH. TAKE IT FOR YOUR OWN. EMBRACE ANTILIFE. THERE IS NO LAW BUT YOURS. OREN IS. He swung the staff despite the pressure of voices in his head, the blow hard enough to strike the Necro-King right in the face! The demon-lord staggered but did not fall, fixing his eyes on Hellbound's with a look of unspeakable disgust. "YOU WISH TO GRAPPLE WITH ME? COME, AND KNOW ME BETTER, MAN!" He reached out and grabbed Hellbound by the arm hard enough to break skin and tear flesh, ghoulish insects crawling from his bones and over O'Ren's face as he proceeded to begin dragging Hellbound back into the very depths of the Hungry Hells!

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The Scarab waved aside the vampire's sword as if it were a mosquito, little more than an annoyance. Looking past her old foe, she saw Hellbound charge the self-proclaimed "Necro-King."

That idiot! He'll get himself killed, if he's lucky. We need to have a talk later about choosing one's battles...if there is a later.

Still shining with the light of ten suns, The Scarab flew across the battlefield, intercepting the Necro-King. She stood a couple feet up off the ground, with her arms crossed in front of her, blocking the portal to Hell.

"Foolish though he may be, that man is our comrade. You have received your sacrifice. Go in peace. Another day, our fight will be with you. Another day, he will be yours for the taking. But not this day."

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"Necro King, huh," Wesley says curiously, "this guy might be out of my league." The whole of his eyeballs turn into green orbs, scanning the area for life. Wesley is not shocked to learn that the Necro King is not living. Though the suprise comes when Avenger isn't alive! He looks like a man, he walks like a man, but he isn't a man. There is something animating him, some shadowy force that propels him onward, a darkness that sucks the light from others to survive. Though this weirds Wesley out, Necro King is a whole other ball game. He is a terrifying abomination; a font of undeath and monstrous unlife, a hideous monstrosity that is a well of pure undeath and entropy. Wesley centers himself and kicks his adrenaline into overdrive. Like a bat out of hell, he charges the Nercro King.

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