The Impossible Mansion: Olivier's Domain

Aphos squinted at him for a moment. "Assbut....I....whatever, see ya later bitchywings." Having said this, Aphos began walking down the hallway again, casually shooting at hidden angels as he went. He did this with a burst of maniacal laughter each time, as well as an outloud tally. "Twelve....thirteen...thirteen in the ass...." he said in a singsong voice, before stopping in front of a door with another "O" on it. he sighed. "Heads or fucking tails doesnt mean shit to me. 50% is no big deal. Lets go 1000 to 1 bitches!" he yelled, seemingly to the world at large, and he swung his shotgun like a bat again, right at the door.

-------------

Maxwell nodded. "Allright then." He said flatly. "Boop, cam is on." The boop was intensly unnesasary, but as far as maxwell was concerned, it was quite important. "Anyway, im gonna burn down this place, and also kill its owner, and also take his hat....i remember liking his hat..."

Maxwell continued on his tangent as he gradualy caught up with aphos through an invisiblesea of pissed of angels.

Jimmy swatted angrily at Maxwell but failed to prevent the Yorke Cam from being activated.
"Gah! Damn it all!" He kicked the floor. He was getting tired of this hyperactive psychopath...The sound of Olivier's voice made him tense up. "I'll freak out on you later. Follow me, we've got a douchebag to obliterate."
---------------
The door shattered easily under the weight of the blow. Behind the door, looking incredibly annoyed and holding the end of the gun in an iron grip, was Olivier. The Prince's eyes were a striking cobalt color, a contrast to his bubblegum pink hair. He was dressed in a pink and brown suit with a mint green undershirt. Presently he was staring down at Aphos, being a good foot and a half taller than him.

Once the rage had passed from his features, he looked amused and impressed.
"Didn't expect to see you so soon. Didn't excpect you to see me at all, actually. But you had to go ripping out peoples' eyes. Served the little pansy right, though. Nice touch. I'd have liked to make you one of us, kid."

((Strength roll over the Skypes, Aphos wins and Olivier has been griefed))

He wrenched the gun away, tossing it to the side. Then he stopped. And he smiled. Jimmy was standing behind Aphos, looking agitated and nervous.

"James! Long time no see! You might still be of use yet. Leading these worthless little maggots to my doorstep so I can rip their hearts out-"

"Kay." maxwell said, flicking a pill up in the air and catching it in his mouth. "I nom the burning essence of hellfire....tastes like shit but a nice buzz." maxwell muttered distractedly.

----------

Aphos was not happy. He was not happy and someone was going to pay....they were going to pay real fucking bad. The one in the victim seat at the moment was the fucker with the pink hair and the stupid grin...well that would change...that would change real quick...no one touched aphos's gun. No one that stayed alive for any amount of time.

Aphos's face pulled back into a deeply unsettling smile, The angel eyes in his head letting off black tendrils of energy. "Dont fuck with a reaper you stupid piece of shit." Aphos said. That was when he pulled back on the chain that he had held onto when olivier threw his shotgun. The gun careened back in the direction it had come from, and whipped across Olivier's line of sight, the chain wrapping twice around his neck before aphos caught the shotgun. Then, he drew back the shotgun...and hit olivier with the stock hard enough to rip a normal person's head off.

Having done so, aphos leaned in close, and muttered something to the angel prince. "You think that you are fucking powerfull? You have no idea what i once was...Angel? Heheh....all you're good for is spare parts, and when i mount your fucking head on my mantle, the only thing ill take out of the experience is your eyes..."

OOC: Yay for my charachters being genuinely terrifying.

------------

Maxwell, having arived in time to see the shotgun whack applauded politely. "Im gonna fuck with the place now okay?" Maxwell called out to the general world. A red glow started to surround him.

((Olivier is brought down to 400hp))

Olivier fell to the ground, face first. He was silent for a moment, sincerely caught off guard by the force. Then he began to laugh. He pushed himself up off the ground, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth. Jimmy winced, his suspicions that neither of them knew exactly what they were dealing with having been confirmed.

"You...I like you." Olivier's voice was several octaves deeper now, a breathy snarl in the back of his throat. "But you're gonna have to try harder than that, kid." Still unsteady on his feet, Olivier made a flicking motion with his wrist, pointing at Aphos.

((Telekinesis - 15 damage))

"You..." He turned to Jimmy, his face a hardset frown. "Not so much. Pick a side, Yorke."
"Hey, I'm on side James, remember? You kicked me off of side Angel Thugs years ago."
"Pity that."

((Attempted "Pyromaniac", Maxwell IMAGUS (yay teammates), Olivier is dealt 37.5 damage. Olivier is at 362.5 hp))

The flames that erupted around Jimmy were gone as fast as they appeared, and instead were leaving deep scorches in Olivier's skin. He stumbled backwards, clawing at the flames on his coat. Jimmy took this opportunity to attack, confused as to why it had backfired so badly, but thrilled to be un-cooked.

((Level 3 Buzzkill - 30 damage with bonuses and penalties, -6 to Olivier's speed stat, Olivier is at 332.5 hp))

White-gold electricity built up around Jimmy's hands. He began to levitate slightly, all of his hair (mohawk included) standing on end as he charged the attack. In one swift motion he lashed the light over Olivier's face, knocking him back slightly and leaving a scorch-mark from his right temple to the left side of his jaw.

"You son of a bitch!" The Prince roared.

Aphos spit out blood from his bitten lip. His grimmace was savage as he got up from the ground. The blackness that had been arcing across his eyes had now enveloped them, leaving two black orbs of pure silky darkness. "All right." Aphos said quietly. "You want me to try harder?" he skrugged, letting out a short laugh. "You got it. Lets Make a fucking MASTERPIECE!" He yelled, and suddenly, the atmosphere of the room changed. Olivier would find himself having problems breathing, everything would seem too bright, as though stage lights were shining on him. Tendrils of darkness seemed to be writhing around him. Aphos was walking around him slowly, as though taking in his full form. "Angles are set..." Aphos's voice semed to echo. "Lights...Camera...."

--------------

Maxwell made a frowny face. "Hey, fuck you hat dude." he said. "I am the only one who gets to set people on fire around here!" So saying, maxwell Threw a large blast of fire at him.

He barely had enough time to dodge the fireball. In fact, he failed to do so properly, and the flames scorched his shoulder.

(40 damage)


Cursing loudly, Olivier held up both hands in a "stop" gesture.

"Alright! Enough!" Olivier's voice shook the entire room. A solid metal wall was suddenly between Aphos and the rest of the group, and the Prince was readjusting his hat. "You," he pointed at Jimmy now. "are in more trouble than you can FUCKING COMPREHEND."

Jimmy knew what that generally meant coming from the boss, but he hoped he was wrong. In that moment the floor fell out from under him, confirming his worries. He clung to the edge of the hole, elbows on the floor as he tried to pull himself up. He failed to dodge his boss's boot however, which came down violently on his forearm and sent him down the hole with a yelp.

Now the Prince turned to Maxwell. "Officer Maxwell, lovely to see you too. So glad you formally said hello to me and my boys. Rather rude of you to burn my favorite shirt though." He didn't seem to be trying to fight. He was just making small talk.

"Yeah." said maxwell, looking at Aphos then grinning slightly. "I would go ahead and chat for a bit, you know, catch up on what my favorite failure of a mob boss is up to, but...im afraid you're gonna have to cut and run. Well....the running is up to you..."

With this, maxwell took a large step back, as aphos's voice echoed through the space. "....Action." He said quietly. And suddenly, Olivier would be in a really quite stunning amount of pain, as large gashes would begin to open in him, seemingly at random, as though a bunch of invisible swords were flying around, straight up not giving a fuck.

Aphos looked on, the skulls in his eyes glowing white, as the blackness in his eyes slowly cleared.

Maxwell looked impressed. Then he looked annoyed. "Wait, the fluttery guy is gone.....do we have to rescue him or...."

Aphos shrugged. "Dunno, i'm guessing calamity would kick your ass if YOU didn't, but see, i am removing me, from your royal WE, thank you very much."

From the other side of the wall, sounds of torment and anguish rung out. Music to the ears of many on the other side of that wall.

The sound was quite unpleasant, however, for the Angel Mob Boss leaning back in a large leather office chair, puffing away absentmindedly on a cigar. He frowned. These people were proving to be quite the little issue for him. A shame he'd lost his favorite Splinter to them. Olivier had actually liked that one. It was his less witty side, of course, but it generally fought well.

"I'm gonna have to split these fools up, aren't I?" he sighed. He wondered where the Splinter had sent James. He generally knew these things, but he couldn't pinpoint the exile's location. Swiveling his chair around, Olivier pressed and held a small silver button on the wall behind his desk.

"Yorke, I'd like a word with you as soon as possible. Please report in. By which I mean don't make me retrieve you, Yorke. I don't like retrieving people."

-----------------
"Jesus fucking Christ." James sat up slowly, rubbing his aching temples. The room he was in was completely dark. "Ah shit, the cellar? Really?"

It was a fairly well known fact amongst the Mob that the cellar was not a nice place. All sorts of nasty things lived in that labyrinth. He stayed still for a moment, listening for Hellhounds, Ghouls, Voidkin, or worse and allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He was both startled and interrupted by the loud booming voice inside of his head asking him to come to Olivier's office.

James groaned and put his head in his hands. He had known something was off about his boss in that room. It was one of his many Splinters. No wonder he was still alive.

With a sigh, James stood and squinted into the darkness, scanning the room for an exit. He could make out the hazy outline of a door on the far right wall. As he walked towards it he muttered "Pleased don't be a Mimic, please don't be a Mimic, I swear to GOD if it's a fucking Mimic..."

---------------

Aphos, having the eyes of an Angel and thus belonging ever so slightly to the Angel network, would have heard a quiet mumble in the back of his head. His perception is high enough to have heard the sound, but not make out the words. Now that he's officially "connected" to the network however, he will find it easier to hear announcements in the future.

---------------

Maxwell would not have experienced anything.

---------------

The wall diving the room shimmered slightly and then was gone. There was an alarming amount of blood behind it. In the middle of all of this was simply a lovely little bowler hat. It is of course, free for the taking.

Aphos blinked. Well, nothing wrong with a free hat. He flicked the blood off the brim, with what seemed to be a disturbingly practiced motion, and set it on his head. That was better, he thought. A good hat was the sort of thing one didn't waste.

"Alright then..." he said, cracking his neck. "What's the plan?"

Maxwell seemed to think about it. It didn't last long. "We're gonna bust the fuck through the wall."

Aphos blinked. "Bust through the wall?"

"With extreme prejudice." Maxwell said with a self-satisfied smile.

Aphos blinked. He waited for a moment, letting the idea settle over him. "I mean... there's a door..."

"Nope, we're going through the wall."

A few moments passed. Aphos sighed. "Okay." he said, resignation clear in his voice "Let's break down the wall."

Maxwell strode forwards, casually tossing aside a nice couch, and a couple of blood stained end-tables. He dipped his fingers in the blood on the coffee table, and made a giant red x in the middle of the now exposed wall. He also tossed a painting on the ground, grumbling about 'stupid fucking peaceful lakes' and 'not in my hell you don't.'

He pointed dramatically to the red X. "Shoot the wall!" He said with relish.

Aphos scratched his head. On one hand, this was a moronic plan. On the other hand, shooting things. He raised his shotgun and a massive bang reverberated across the space.

[NOTE: Aphos has gained the rather unoriginally named "Mad Hat". Perception is doubled while the hat is equipped (bringing his Perception to 66). Unfortunately he does not have the "Mania" perk due to a low imagination stat.]

---------------------------------------------------

The wall, having been reduced to rubble, revealed another room much like the first (albeit less bloody). It was likely a major disappointment to all parties expecting fun things.

---------------------------

"It's not."

James spun around, startled by the voice in the darkness. It had an unusual echo to it. Familiar, but unusual. It took a few moments and a lot of squinting for his eyes to adjust, but he could make out the shape of a body and spread wings. Whoever it was appeared to be pinned or chained to the wall. A couple of objects lay on the floor in a heap off to the side of the figure, but he couldn't quite make out what they were.

"Wait, Michael?"
"Mm. A shame you fell, child. You weren't a bad soldier."
"Yeah..." James laughed nervously. "I've got to get going though so..."
"Not going to unchain me? Pull the spikes out that are keeping my wings against this awful wall?"
"No." He said this a bit too quickly.
"A shame."
"Tell you what though," James called, backing away towards the door he had previously been heading for. "When I'm done here, I'll send some fellas down to maybe help you out. I dunno, I've kind of got a new boss man and he's kind of completely irrational and insane, so he's liable to be dumb enough to let you go."

James took the resounding silence as a sign that he could leave now.

Aphos grunted, swinging his shotgun up to rest on his shoulder. "Well that was anticlimactic."

"Hey!" Maxwell chided "That was a secret door, secret doors are exciting in and of themselves, and frankly I am shocked that you would imply otherwise."

"We broke through a wall, I don't think that qualifies." Aphos said grumpily.

"A wall is just like a door once you make a hole in it." Maxwell said, gesturing at the large hole.

*Achoo*

"Gesundheit, anyway, This is fundamentally NOT a door."

"Shut up and look at the ceiling."

"What? Oh shit."

Aphos blinked, partially because he was surprised, and partially because he was still getting used to the concept of not squinting constantly.

On the ceiling was a slender, white creature. It appeared to be made of billowing smoke and had eyes the color of pure existence. One could just make out six legs, two tails, and a gaping slimy maw from which came a low rumble. This, Maxwell would recognize, was a rare case in Hell. An Archangel's Heart escaping into the Void and being spit back into service of "God" during times of war. Discarded as soon as they were done being useful - for they were abominations and a horrible blight on the realm of the Holy. They were mistakes, slipped through the cracks, things to be stuffed into Hell and forgotten about if possible. They were never supposed to happen. This was a Miracle.

The creature let out an ear-splitting shriek and dropped to the floor.

------------

James stopped dead in his tracks. He thought for a moment about what he was doing. He thought for a moment about the years spent in the box, about his boss, about his brothers...

"You know what?" He growled. "Fuck you."
Michael looked up, false disinterest plastered on his face.
"You fuckers abused, twisted, manipulated, and pushed me and then - and fucking then - you had the nerve to abandon me. You left me for dead. But you knew, oh you knew, that I can not die of waiting. No, you chose to let me ROT."
He roared the last word, stalking towards the bound Angel with fire in his eyes.
"And you will pay."

Beside Michael, out of his reach, lay a heavy silver sword. It crackled with electricity when James' hand wrapped around the hilt, seemingly adapting to the natural talents of its new wielder. The sword vibrated, pulses with a blinding white light, and then settled.

"I see." Michael whispered. He no longer appeared collected and intimidating. "Just as you leave your Masters, it leaves me. You owe your former employer a thank you for this gift."
"I don't owe anyone shit."

--------

James gains 150 XP for slaying Michael, as there was no struggle and the points really just come from character development. He does, however, gain Michael's Sword. The Sword, sensing James' rebellion, has accepted him as its new wielder and adapted to his natural inclination towards lightning/static/electricity/etc.

Sparkplug: The sword generates a jolt of electricity that does direct physical damage and applies a -5 to Perception for the next 3-5 turns. Can only be used if the sword is in physical contact with the target.
Rebel Yell: The sword steals a random amount of Intelligence and adds it to a different stat of the user's choice.
Conductor: The sword draws a jolt of power from the user and fires it at a chosen target. Any reflected damage is caught by the sword and put directly into the next physical strike.

"Miracle..." Maxwell said, sounding genuinely serious for once. "We should kill it. We should kill it a great deal."

Aphos raised an eyebrow at Maxwell's tone. "What, is this thing that big of a deal?"

"Not really." Said Maxwell. "I just don't appreciate what they represent."

"Ah, got it." Aphos said, swinging his shotgun down into a shooting position. "Dibs on the eyes then."

"Sure, why not." Maxwell said with a shrug, drawing a long scythe from midair. Aphos shot him a dirty look, but said no more about it. "...I wish to chop."

With these words, Maxwell pointed the scythe at the miracle, and the blade erupted into white static, arcing towards the miracle's seething head.

Aphos went for a somewhat less elegant solution. He swung the barrel of his gun upwards, and shot a slug round, meant to pierce right through the creatures smoky spine.

The Miracle, being a quick and slippery little fucker, dodged Maxwell's attack with ease. Unfortunately, it dodged directly into Aphos' bullet. It was much less threatening without its tails. However, nobody seemed to have informed Aphos that Miracles are...well, miraculous. Its eyes briefly flashed to reflect Aphos' own, at which point a searing pain would have torn through his ass with the rage of every knock-off Indian restaurant in America.

[20 Physical Damage to Aphos]

-----

James wiped blood from his eyes. He stared at the mutilated corpse of that asshole he once called his Brother. He spat on it.

"HEY. HEY MISTER OLIVE-GARDEN DRAG QUEEN LOOKIN' MOTHERFUCKER. YOU HEAR ME? YOU SEE ME? I AM COMING FOR YOU, AND I AM GOING TO CUT YOUR FUCKING DICK OFF AND SERVE IT TO YOU COLD. NO FUCKIN' KETCHUP, YOU ABSOLUTE COCK."

He knew he was screaming into the darkness, and he knew that nobody would hear him, but it made him feel better to get that off his chest. Now all he had to do was mean it.

Aphos made a sound which could best be describes as a cross between an enraged hippo, and a profanity generator. He did a short agonized hop, and then looked back up at the miracle with wrath bordering on apocalyptic. Aphos acted almost on instinct, his eyes burning with the same burning light that he had seen fade from so many angels. He had questions, ones that he knew spoken words would not adequately convey. He had questions, and one very definitive statement.

As his stolen eyes burrowed into the burning consciousness of the miracle, his first question rippled through it's essence.

'Just who exactly the fuck are you?'

Then, his second.

'Just who the hell do you think I am?!"

And finally, the thing that he wanted to make abundantly clear, the thing that he wanted to consume every fiber of this creatures understanding.

"You have fucked up."

----------

Maxwell grimaced as his attack missed, and barely even giggled as Aphos took one to the derriere, instead, he dashed forwards, and up, scaling thin air, and swinging the scythe in a long arc, set to sever all six of the Miracle's legs.

The Miracle seemed to recoil at the unfamiliar sensation of being thoroughly evaluated. Most people couldn't even look it in the face, let alone stare into its soul and tell it "go fuck yourself". It didn't even try to hide its secrets. It didn't know how.

Aphos would have clearly heard the name "Marmaroth - angel who has power to thwart fate." He would have seen, in a brief instant, thousands of wars that drove guilt and a deep thirst for blood into the Angel's heart. He would have felt the sensation of falling from a great height, only to be enveloped in a soft static-like buzz. And then he would have realized that anyone who crossed him would need much more than a mere miracle to save them.

Marmaroth's Blessing added. All critical rolls directed at you are automatically changed to critical failures. Congrats, asshole.

The Miracle shuddered. Then, it split clean in half beneath Maxwell's scythe and with a terrible groan it exploded. A violent gust of wind blew about the room, breaking down the walls around it to reveal for a fleeting moment a massive maze of ever-shifting cubes before they were rebuilt.

The air hung thick with energy. A lot had just occurred in the spaces between Truth and Reality.

-----------------

A dark pulse seeped into the hallway, crawling over the walls and rotting everything it touched. The recently re-built door to the room wheezed. Aphos heard, a bit louder than before and a bit more understandable.

"You'll never be what you used to be, Reaper. Never again, never going to hold that power. Useless now. Worthless."

Maxwell would feel compelled to frown.

-------------------

James felt his bones creak as the house, which he was part of in a sense, temporarily broke apart. He hissed at the pain, but dragged his new sword behind him and pushed onward through the dark halls of the cellar. He was going to find that son of a bitch and cut his fucking throat....

Aphos ground his razor-teeth with a sound that could not be healthy. "Watch me... Watch me you overgrown fucking newt, watch me from whatever pit of the Umber your misty ass goes to!" Aphos unloaded a full clip into the dusty remains letting out a roar of frustration. His grip on his shotgun tightened until his hand started to shake, as though he was trying to grasp something that wasn't there.

Maxwell looked at him for a moment. "Huh, well this feeling sucks. Let's try a different one."

Aphos ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, seeming to gather himself up. "Fine." he said irritably. Let's try angry, let's try angry, and let's kill the extra bread-sticks asshole who wanted us here to begin with."

Maxwell let out a chuckle that developed steadily into something resembling a cackle.

"I like that, let's do the thing with the bread sticks."

"We're taking the door this time though."

"Fine, but just this once."

The floorboards outside were almost too rotten to support their weight. The whole house seemed to inhale and hold its breath as they stepped into the hallway. A low laugh filled Aphos' mind.

"Wasted a clip....losing your touch..."

A thick wall of shadows blocked the way to the right. To the left, the hall stretch on in complete decay and disrepair. A tall man in a ragged coat and a torn up hat shambled away from them. His shoulders shook in time with the laughter.

---------------

Olivier ground his teeth, his fingers digging deep into the armrests of his chair. This would not do. Rebellion, lucky hits, MIRACLES exploding in his house...He would not stand for this. His fingers hovered over the handle of his gun drawer. He sat on his hand. Not yet. Patience, Prince.

-----------------

James felt sick. He felt sick as he shouldered open door after door, trying to claw his way back to his new allies. If he could even call them that. The terrifying thought that he might be on his own now struck him, but he left it in a puddle of vomit four rooms back.

Misery was out. He must be. There was no other reason for him to feel so sick. No other reason for the Mansion to be suffering like this.

Apho's eyes narrowed. "Oh, so you're the heir to the throne of shitheads. Sorry bastard newt, looks like I shot you for questionable reasons."

"You do that all the time."

"Shut up."

"It was a compliment."

Maxwell sighed, even with this top notch banter, he just wasn't feeling it. Odd. He watched the man in the ragged coat move away. That, he decided, would not do. Basic deduction supplied that this guy was in all likelihood the cause of his unusually sedate mood. That, he further reasoned was emotional assault and battery. It was only reasonable that the penalty for that was death. It just made sense, and like all things that made sense, the only way for it to be interesting was to take it to the farthest reaches of interpretation.

"Thirty eight guillotines then." Maxwell said decisively.

"What?" Asked Aphos.

"Thirty eight."

And as he finished the second word, A large execution device dropped to the floor in front of the retreating man with an almighty crash, it's blade whirling out at a vaguely ridiculous angle to fling itself at the strange man's neck.

Not one to be left behind, Aphos strode out towards the enemy before him, his shotgun cocked and ready.

Misery was fucking miserable now. He wasn't expecting the guillotine. Nobody expects the guillotine inquisition. The blade sliced him clean in half. The 36 remaining blades turned him into pico de gallo.

[you're a dick, skype rolls confirm]

Anyone willing to sift through the Miserable pico de gallo might find a bottle of pills labeled "Generic Antidepressant".

The corpse ("corpse") gave off a sudden pulse of sickening energy, rotting a large spherical portion of the hallway and revealing several rooms full of shocked and alarmed Angels. Aphos wretched. Maxwell frowned for a second and then stopped that.

--------

James threw up again, stumbled, caught himself, and swore loudly. Someone was really doing a number on the mansion. He did not wonder who.

--------

Olivier punch a hole through the wall behind him, grabbed his pistol, and stormed out his door.

Aphos kicked a chunk of misery down the rotted whole, spitting after it with a sour look on his face. "Well that was unpleasant." he said, snatching up the pill bottle that had rolled into his shoe. He glared at the label. "That has got to be the worst excuse for a parting jab I have ever seen...still."

Maxwell waved at a surprised looking angel, as Aphos popped an antidepressant.

"Just passing through." He called out, nudging another piece of misery into the hole. "But if you see your boss, tell him that his lackey tripped down a hole and died. Come to think of it..."

Maxwell scratched his head, and then pulled his scythe from behind his ear. "I think I'm going to extend that sentiment."

"You and me both." Aphos grunted, bringing his shotgun to bear. "It's time for matrix level grunt decimation."

So saying a rain of four shotgun blasts and a whirling skull made of flame rippled out into the angels surrounding the two.... not exactly heroes.

Flames engulfed four of the angels, turning them to smoldering piles of flesh and ash. Four more angels fell beneath the bullet storm. The two remaining angels drew their guns and in their panic fired blindly at the men. Aphos, being both perceptive and lucky, was not harmed in the frenzy. Maxwell would likely not appreciate the hole in his thigh. [7 physical damage to Maxwell, -2 to dodge attempts due to the injury being on his leg]

Through the hole in the floor, what appeared to be a lightning bolt shot up and scorched the mid section of one of the angels, sending it stumbling backwards. A loud "FUCK YEAH, THAT'S WHAT I'M ABOUT SON" resounded from below.

"Ow!" Maxwell said indignantly. "You don't shoot people!"

Aphos rolled his eyes and fired a slug at the remaining angel.

"He shoots people" Maxwell grumbled, jerking a thumb in aphos's direction "But you? You do not."

So saying, he lashed out with a hand, sending out a long spear of crackling purple energy, set to explode the last angel's head into confetti.

Figuring that Maxwell could handle one angel, Aphos looked down the hole. "Oh, it's you. Huh, nice sword."

94% of the last angel became confetti.

James flapped his wings hard, bringing himself up to the boys' level. He tried to swing his sword in a flashy display of "yeah I got cool loot", but immediately dropped it instead. Blush rose in his cheeks but opted not to comment on his failure.

"I take it you wrecked one of his Splinters? Sweet. He's gonna be pissed though. Like, really pis-"
"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I AM."

The halls shook violently with the sound of Olivier's voice. James tensed, scrambling to pick up his new sword. There was a deep "wroosh" noise before a rolling wave of white hot flame came barreling down the hall towards them.

Maxwell smiled, living up to his name quite nicely. "Ah so you are here you bulbous butterfly!" He said with a laugh. "Why don't you come out to play?"

So saying, a spiraling mass of pure black fire rippled out from Maxwell's outstretched hand, intent on not only countering, but obliterating Olivier's offering.

Aphos looked on, glancing between Maxwell and the encroaching wall of flame. "OK, you had better fucking be able to hold that." Aphos grumbled. "Because I am wasting perfectly good dodging time right now."