The ethereal soil, it was covered in gashes that no longer managed to be closed in a brief instant, covered by damages from various elements, ghost flame smouldering all around, rubbing his face, Syklon saw crimson upon her pale skin, meanwhile, using her endless hands, Multaemanus put her upper body back on the lower, seamlessly reconnecting them.
The spectre's featureless visage turning to the side, a wave of dread slamming into the living, a splash of refreshing cold washing over the undead, turning back to the swordswoman, her tone elated.
"Tamaris has fallen, at last… At last!
Viridis is ours, I bet that the miasma outside would now be capable of even picking you apart, Syklon" the mere act of sensing her king's presence made all possible remnants of damage vanish into thin air, the Prince Of Death's dominion could no longer be challenged, the entire continent was his, from the depths of the world to the heights of the skies, all was undead territory, all was suffused with miasma, the living's presence upon this continental piece of earth would no longer be tolerated.
All of Syklon's efforts had been run back, discarding the second blade she had conjured, gripping the true blade with both hands, taking up an offensive stance, hilt close to the left side of her face, edge upward, tip pointing straight at the enemy.
"One last time" she ushered in a tone high enough for the gravelord to hear clearly, unfurling an uncountable amounts of arms, all the same shadowy texture, the ethereal capable of interacting with the physical, the arms could extend and bend at will, the portals of swirling darkness were nowhere to be seen, none of her collected hands seemed ready to burst out of the body either.
Syklon had tried countless arts already, but Multaemanus did not of have any easily exploitable weaknesses apart from life force, and even then, it was not exceptionally efficient, as a gravelord, life force pulled through arts was not anything to be worried about, facing great undeads was always a chore, keeping them down in any capacity was pretty much impossible under advantageous circumstances, so with the backing of their king, of his eternal night and the royal miasma, they were basically fighting with a home advantage.
And as powerful as Syklon was, she had been pitted, most certainly intentionally, against the spectre lord of all gravelords, elusive, and even her true body was not an easy affair to deal with considered that it was not physical, and since she had already expanded stamina and been injured whilst her opponent was without even the slightest of cuts now.
Lunging forward, her blade stabbed through one hand, then another, two more, four more, so many that the blade disappearing within the shadowy limbs, still, Storm Of Blade pushed on, the sword's reach extending, more hands stacking atop of it, slowing down the swordmaster's charge, but not enough, the tip of the sword nearly reaching up against the gravelord's face, grazing it.
Syklon's was pouring everything into this potentially finishing blow, twisting her blade, tearing all of the stacked up limbs apart, charging through the veil of shredded phantomatic limbs, aiming for the spectre's neck, blade blazing with nearly all the living had to offer, each and every limb that came her way were destroyed, eyes wide open, she watched intently as she neared her objective, perhaps, with some luck, striking the neck with such a potent, life-infused art would be enough to put Multaemanus down, with a sick crunch, all was stopped right in its track, the living's blade only cutting halfway through the lord's thin, and gentle neck.
A dark hand tightened its grip upon Syklon, like a child playing with a puppet, it had its hold over her entire body save her head, and her arm that was sticking out in between two fingers, the limb that extended from this hand came from behind the spectre, just at the end of her back.
'That damned tail…' turns out it was especially subject to shifting its size and length, unlike the rest of the arms that could only extend and nothing else.
"Nice try Syklon, one needs to be decisive when dealing with me, or any of my compatriots, we can not truly be chipped away at, we always win the battles of attrition" the hand squeezed harder, bringing the living face to face with the undead.
"Sweet Syklon… You were truly blessed, master of the arts and adorable… And these hands! How soft, how tender" her face split open, revealing another hand, softly grabbing the living's chin, caressing the soft features.
"It would be a shame to see all of this rotten away, don't you agree? Aah, but you are strong, you'll get to choose what kind of undead you become, I am certain that you can become a gravelord too with some time" Syklon tried to force the blade through the rest of Multaemanus's neck, to no avail, she had no strength left to do anything, no arts were activating.
"...Unless you are willing to give me your hands, pretty please?" the spectre tilted her head, presumably to appear more convincing.
"Just take me to your king and ask him" Syklon replied without emotion.
Far away, the copper knights own confrontations were soon to come to their conclusion as well, and yet, the clashes were raging stronger than ever, the hollow's blade was snapped in two by a strike of Nosferatu's fist, sent flying through the air but quickly caught by Pierre-Ornée, swinging his halberd like a club, launching it back straight through the vampire's back, heretical flames and lightning intertwined, without showing reaction, Nosferatu headbutted the Nameless King, caving his iron-like head inward.
The living already upon him against, blasting his head away, only for it to immediately regrow, and without even slowing down his counterattack, striking Pierre-Ornée right in the chest, lowering down and grabbing a hold of the copper knight's ankle, swinging him right at the approaching hollow.
The Nameless King turned his attention to the pillar of flames, which was trapping his enemies, a disturbance occurred, two figures bursting in.
"Pierre-Ornée! Need a hand?!" Bough laughed gleefully, throwing the ghoul lord of his shield, flames of defilement hanging upon both of their bodies, neither seemed to be feeling the strain of its heresy just yet.
"I wouldn't say no" calmly responded the halbardier, both of the knights of copper were severely beaten down, and yet, their armours and bodies held on as they joined up, lightning dancing atop.
Meanwhile, the two gravelords also regrouped.
Both also looking rather rough, Nosferatu had willfully torn his own mantle off, his chest bearing a nasty burn mark that was not easily going away, some scars proof that his outlandish regeneration was in need of some repose, the same went for Vwoldtnir, his small stature covered in the marks of lightning, and having been crushed a few times, though, both of them were still in their peak condition.
The ghoul pointed at the elephant in the room, being the fifth character that clearly did not belong.
Nosferatu did not really answer this question, instead sharing a little plan he had just come up with now that Vwoldtnir was with him.
"Then let us engage in jolly cooperation, you reckon this is wise?" the ghoul lord asked as he stood up on his hind arms.
"I reckon it is stupidly dangerous, but will absolutely grant us victory" responded the vampire, both could sense that their king had walked upon the capital just moments ago, but the refreshing wave that should have come with it was not reaching them, the Nameless King's tower of flames getting in the way.
"Let us go then" and with this, both the undeads moved swiftly.