The Battle of Catherine

Arzekiel strode confidently through the muck, one of twelve elite war-magus of the Paradeen army. In his right hand, he carried a pistol, beautifully detailed in gold filigree. It, like the converger gauntlet fused to his left, was a symbol of station. The other eleven magus carried identical equipment, and, like him, killed with precision. The twelve advanced, fire and death lancing from their gauntlets to reduce their foes to ash or mounds of flesh, while casually firing their pistols at anyone who managed to get close. Above, Arzekiel could hear the thrum of airships, while the heavy thud of their cannons vibrated through his chest. Naturally, the war-magus weren't the only ones present. The airships were Istrian, support in the hopes that Paradeen would not turn its gaze their way next, and behind - far behind - was the bulk of the Paradeen army. Some six thousand-odd anointed battlemages stood, their palms outstretched, focusing and directing their power toward the twelve war-magus, like some enormous well of mana. Even amongst the elite however, Arzekiel was special. Born a mage and thus into nobility, Arzekiel was the first in history to also be born a psychic. The combination proved to be incredible. He pulled the trigger again, only to be met with an empty click. Arzekiel grumbled and instead, threw the weapon toward the crowd before blasting it to pieces with magic. Shards of molten metal were met with screams, but Arzekiel had already moved on. His goal towered above everything, so tall it could pierce the heavens. The Spire. And before it, floating above the sea of Thornbarge soldiers, was Catherine. The Goddess shone, holy light spilling out from every part of her, yet she was somehow in front of it, unobscured. Arzekiel quickly estimated the distance and fired a stream of dragon's fire from his converger. The beam scythed across the battlefield, vaporizing hundreds of soldiers who were in the way. Arzekiel blinked and there was an enormous golden staff in the Goddess's hands, and then - the fire was gone. It hit its mark, he knew, but the power of a Goddess was not to be trifled with. Arzekiel roared, and tore the souls from any Thornbarge soldier in range, using their lives to fuel himself. Cruel and devastating as it was, that was the nature of Paradeen magic. He leaped forward, melting through anyone in his way as he charged toward Catherine, rapidly calculating new spells and cast vectors, before unleashing everything on his foe. Divine though she may have been, even she could not withstand the might of Arzekiel's ingenuity and the entire Paradeen army. His magic crushed her staff, her barriers, and finally, Catherine herself. As the Goddess fell from the sky, her body burning and her wings broken, Arzekiel turned his gaze backward. With a thought, he pulled on the support mages' power, making it impossible for them to turn away as he raised his gauntlet to his allies. He felt their confusion, then their terror as his overcharged magic obliterated them all. Finally, with victory his and his alone, Arzekiel set his eyes on his prize. The Spire waited, its halls now empty.