1200/Olympus Comes to Sunnydale

Olympus Comes to Sunnydale
Date of Scene:	29 June 2017
Location:	Sunnydale, Bludhaven
Synopsis:	The villain behind the situation is revealed and an epic battle between gods begins.
Cast of Characters:	Ares, Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles, Spike

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Ares has posed:
    The night had been long in Sunnydale, the transgressions of the arcane lit by the glow of the moon that hangs high above the suburb. Low hanging clouds threaten a rain that is yet to come, but causes the shadows that linger a depth to them, allowing the night to seem all the stronger despite the coming of the dawn.
    At times there would be a manifestation of ill will, a vortex surging to life that would bring forth creatures of legend cobbled together by the debris and detritus of the new world. Trash, rocks, concrete, iron all would whirl together to create such monstrosities that it would take the help of all the defenders of Sunnydale. For a time grudges were set aside. Angelus and Spike would fight with perhaps only words hurled at each other. Faith would perhaps temporarily forgive her hatred of Buffy. So would Angelus. So would Spike. So would Ares. In fact everyone just really really had to forgive their hatred of Buffy. A lot.
    But still they were able to fight, each time a power would press, they would rally and counter and be able to repulse the efforts of the Olympian power that sought to take hold of the Hellmouth and seize its power for itself.
    Until now.
    Far off to the east the first hints of blue are seen against the night's sky. The coming dawn should signal a window of a possibility to end that control on the Hellmouth due primarily to the knowledge of the librarian and the martial abilities of the defenders of this town.
    Ares, for now, stands tall upon the raised dais that supports the statue of an old pioneer astride his horse. That stone relief giving him a place to stand upon and observe for some distance there in the center of town.

Buffy Summers has posed:
It's been one helluva night. For Sunnydale, that's saying something.

Buffy is standing on ground level, arms crossed, her messenger bag still slung at her side. She's gotten to play with all her toys. When it wasn't some Hippit, Hoppit, Hiccup..oh whatever...when it wasn't some big garbage monster, there seemed to be vampires coming out of the woodworks too. So she'd gotten to use her machete, stakes, a few different daggers, a flail (she didn't even realize she had one of those!) and a highlighter. That one was for Giles. He'd inspired her with his defense of the library earlier in the night.

She's looking in the direction of the lightening sky, hoping that Giles can pull this off.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles has been writing, and working, and taking notes, and writing, and working, and taking more notes, and ... yeah, you get the gist. But about an hour before sunrise he got to actually performing a ritual. Holy water, an ankh, cat hair, some Starbursts (don't ask), and some speaking in a very obscure language known as Coptic. There are signs of divinity, signs of the Christian religion and certainly far more symbols in Aramaic. It's slow going, because it's awkaward and once started cannot be stopped. At one point there's the smell of smoke but Giles keeps going, certain crescendos to his voice giving strength to the man that once upon a time called Demons for sport, and now helps Slayers and gods. Finally though he finishes and there's a strong flash of light as the Ankh starts to glow with a brightness that ... well... mirrors sunlight. It projects only in one direction, however, so assuming Angelus and Spike-a-licious stay out of its direct line, they shouldn't...you know...burn to a crisp.

Walking outside to find the others he holds the Ankh carefully before him. "Well then...if we can throw this into the portal at the time the last wave is preparing to come through...it should....send enough of a divine backlash to separate whoever is using the portal as their own Uber into our world. Or we'll all die as the portal closes in on itself and sucks our world into it. But if my calculations are right, that's far less likely."

Ares has posed:
    "Your skills are considerable Guardian of Tomes." The god Ares was in his element even as the winds rose and those clouds around them began to swirl. His smile was a wild thing, manic and amused as he looked across the distance to the bespectacled man. "What is nobler than to hold oneself against an unstoppable enemy, but a forlorn hope, a bare slim chance at victory that will require such valorous sacrifice!" He drops from the dais, some ten feet in total back to the ground. The armored figure unslings the great axe from over his shoulder and hefts it enthusiastically. "I tell you naught else is more noble."
    He reaches for the crested helm he had left at the base of the statue, bringing it up with one hand and placing it atop his head. Two fingers grasp the edge and pulls it down into place. His face disappears into its shadows, his eyes glowing an eerie red.
    "Come slayer, come defenders of Sunnydale. Today we are brothers all." The tall armored man grins wildly, "Today we may well die. But the winds of history will forever whisper our names."
    And as if on cue, there is that flicker of purple lightning that heralds the coming storm.

Buffy Summers has posed:
Ares has grown on her. His enthusiasm for all of this is a little infectious. Especially since it resembles her own love of fighting things that go bump in the night. It's a love/hate relationship with what she is. She wishes she were normal. Go to dances, without a huge attack from demons or vampires interrupting it. Pep rallies. Football games. To be normal, like other girls at the school. If she was normal, she wouldn't be out fighting. She wouldn't have that rush of adrenaline that goes through her when she gets that familiar sensation that there is something evil nearby.

She draws out her machete, which has served her so well tonight. It's easier to hide than a sword. She has a sword but she wants nothing to do with that one. Bad memories associated with it. Besides, where would she put it?

She peeks over at Spike, at his duster specifically, and considers for a moment before looking back at Giles.

"I'd rather live, y'know. History books are boring and I would hate to be a footnote in one. Oh wait, it'd be a mytholocy book. And I probably wouldn't even get in one because slayers don't exist. It'd be all 'Ares smote the fiend' and I'd get nothin'."

Rupert Giles has posed:
"Yes well...we'll see how this works. So far all I have is a really powerful nightlight." Giles still holds it carefully, though it should be noted that the creatures of Hades are not likely to enjoy being in its glow. However, as also noted, that glow really only works in a straight line so..."I'm not sure though that you're familiar with what a Watcher does. We like to leave noble, typically, to the Slayers. We make excellent recorders and note-keepers of history though. Right...the helmet...fighting."

Brothers all huh? Does that mean -he- gets a turn with Aphrodite too? Probably not but it doesn't hurt to ask right? Well...in this case, it probably would hurt to ask. "Well...probably...but you needn't worry. If this doesn't work there wont' be anyone around to write the story so, in truth, we'd all be left out. Not just you."

Spike has posed:
Spike of course, did get caught in the Ankh's pathway. Technically, his right hand did. He happened to be sitting, and his right hand just happened to be in the direct line of light from the Ankh. At first, when he saw the light, he cringed, reaching with his left hand to grab the blanket. It was an hour before sunrise, so he had it with him just in case. For Spike, daylight was a mere inconvenience. But the right hand was in the path of that light. He sniffed, smelling it first. Maybe he'd had a lot to drink tonight, dulling his senses. "Does anybody else smell bacon?"

He asked, and then, seeing his hand on fire as it finally burst into flames, he cringed, rolling to the left, and using the blanket to put his right hand out. "Never a dull moment in Sunnydale, is there?" He rolled his eyes and then cast Giles a disapproving look, one he had earned so often from the Librarian himself. But this time, Spike was the wronged party. He had a mace ready, one he'd borrowed. He didn't use weapons very often, but he was ready, even if he projected the look of a man completely at rest, totally relaxed.

He was mesmerised by the light. It had been a while since he got to actually see daylight properly. He had seen it through glasses, or under shade, but never the sun. He never looked at the sun. It would kill him. So to see something that gave off light like the sun. Okay, he has a sentimental side okay. But he was actually getting a little teary eyed. Then, catching himself, he wiped his eyes, pretending to wipe his nose, and play it as being manly, or something.

Ares has posed:
    "Bah!" Ares' response to Giles is a casual shout of denial, nudging the Englishman with the haft of his axe as if to reassure him, but perhaps causing him to miss a step accidentally. Yet Ares begins to advance forward toward the vortex and lifts his voice.
    "Hear me, you who would challenge The God of War!" Ares' voice is a bellow, it is a thing that shakes windows in their frame and causes those who might still be asleep within earshot to arise just in time for all the carnage. A general's voice for hurling orders in the din of battle, "Hear me, you who hide behind automata! I challenge you. My swordbrothers and I shall be your downfall!"
    And that purple vortex /whoooshes/ into manifestation, the purplish lightning seeming to dance around the edges as if they were tendrils seeking to grasp and hold onto reality. And for those who can sense the arcane, they can sense the way this vortex draws now upon the Hellmouth, draws upon the very fabric of Sunnydale.
    Then around it shadowy figures begin to manifest, but not one, not ten, not even hundreds. But several hundred all seeming to glow and shimmer as the earth ripples under their fading in and out of reality feet. An army, opposed by the few of them.
    Yet when he sees them all, sees those masses of helms and spears and swords held by such shadows... Ares tosses his head back and laughs.

Buffy Summers has posed:
She's been a good sport. She really has. She's buckled down and kicked some serious ass tonight. She's even been willing to work with Ares and Faith, a feat beyond comprehension but she's done it!

As the vortex swirled, she tightened her hand and prepared for battle. Until she saw one after another foe manifest. Until there too many of them to keep counting. She looked at her own group on this side, realizing she could count their number without taking off her shoes.

And then Ares laughed.

"You have got to be kidding me," she mutters, looking at the God of War and thinking he's lost his ever lovin' mind. If he had one. That's still out to committee for a decision.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles is moved, and he does so not with reluctance but not like he's heading towards the Disneyland Main Street entrance either. But...he's moving, and shining that light. Which is cool cause, you know...when you're approaching a big strange purple portal that the God (you know, the one who would die last) you're traveling with decides to poke the bear and taunt the thousands of shadow creatures forming on the other side, well...yeah. That does not give one warm fuzzies. But, Giles has his glowing Ankh of Daylight, the Gatherer of Vampire Tears, the Bane of...

"Well....this is awkward." The Ankh stops glowing as Giles turns it face up, looking at him, tapping it for a moment like it were a flashlight in need of batteries. "Right...Egyptian gods. The like their worship. One second...if I just...recite the ritual again it should...you guys can hold them off for just a bit yes? Good then..." and Giles decides maybe being that close to the front without the aid of Ra when standing before the army of Osiris is slightly less of a good idea and he takes a few steps back.

Spike has posed:
For once, Spike wasn't the craziest, bloodlust(iest), if that were a word, person here. He was all for a battle to the death. It got the blood pumping. But this seemed like sheer lunacy. He was very thankful that he had borrowed the mace right now, and was wishing he had taken the sword. A mace relied on power, but a sword used more skill. He'd never admit it, but the truth is he chose the mace because Angel favours swords, and he liked to differentiate himself as much as possible from the poof.

Jumping to his feet, and assuming a battle stance, he said, "Buffy, if we get out of this, we're going to have a serious talk about the company of men you keep... myself included." He was trying to be the voice of reason. He was protective of her, even if he had no business doing that. But he was nervous about this. Knocking his head towards Ares, he then made eye contact with Giles and spoke English English to him. "I think we're all snookered. I reckon our new mate's off his trolley. He's gone and botched this up good and proper. Please, for the love god, tell me you've sussed a way out of this shamble?"

And when the Ankh stops glowing, Spike exclaims, "oh, now you've gone and done it. You broke the bloody Ankh! Fix it! Fix it!" He was getting nervous now and having a hard time maintaining his coolness factor. The coat helped, and he swung his mace around in a circle to give it a boost.

Ares has posed:
    Ares rounds his helmet towards Giles and affixes him with that glowing crimson gaze, "Do not fear, Sorcerer!" The mountain of a man gets a wild grin upon his lips as he takes a step forwards and places himself straight in the path of the shadowy minions, right in front of Giles. "Protect the librarian, for he is our victorious life, or our GLORIOUS death!"
    And as he shouts he swings his axe over his shoulder and then lashes to the side as a scutum the size of the hood of a car manifests in a flash of black fire upon his forearm. With a heavy shift of his feet he takes position, shield up, axe ready and then his voice rises.
    "Come then, mercenary filth! Come and take your wages in death!" And those words seem to inspire the shadow creatures to mach forward in lock step straight at them.
    "Guard our flanks, we shall hold them." Ares says sidelong to Buffy and Spike. Then his lip curls roguishly as he looks on the vampire. "Fear not. If you manage this, Spike, I shall owe you double. Agreed?"
    But the shadows perhaps do not allow quite enough time for conversation as it's then that they break into a run, charging at them with a wild abandon.

Buffy Summers has posed:
She's not sure how she is supposed to watch an entire flank. Yes, she does actually understand that term. It's Giles' fault. He made sure to teach her a little something about tactics and the word had come up. She thought it had to do with horse's butts. Color her surprised.

Nothing to it but to do it.

As the shadow warriros rush toward them, she tightens her grip on the machete and shifts the messenger bag behind her. She doesn't go running toward them but she does settle turn slightly, a better angle to meet the first attack.

As the first one reaches, she is spinning and bring the blade up to block a spear thrust, a quick shift of angle and slicing through the shadow creation at stomach level. Hopefully this works. Otherwise, she's going for the neck.

Rupert Giles has posed:
Klaatu...Barada....*ahermhemr* No it's not really that incantation but it may as well be. The words coming from Giles' mouth you would have to be past centuries old to know and understand, and even then, life is not exactly simple for the man who's trying to intertwine two or three cryptic languages while hoping that the darkness doens't eat him. Or...worse. What's the line from Firefly? They'll rape us to death, eat our flesh,a nd sew our skins into their clothing. A nd, if we're very very lucky they'll do it in that order. Yes well...it's amazingly odd when a phrase like that can...well...translate to current events.

Still...there's an urgency in Giles' voice and at certain words, certain incantations, the shadows seem to recoil. There's still no holy light of Ra shining down, but the 'presence' of his influence can be seen in the fact that the charge doesn't quite fully pick up pace. Certain words, certain phrases cause a hesitation on the parts of the thralls while those seeking glory and favor are the ones heading out in front. Still though, here's hoping that whatever Giles is doing happens...faster?

Spike has posed:
"Too blooming right you will." Spike replied to Ares as he moved into position to help guard a flank. " God of War my arse... if we live through this, I want a new car, and not just a new car to me, but heated seats, and whatchacallit, a SatNav, and all the other fancy bells and whistles I keep hearing about." Wait, was he negotiating on the eve of battle? Well, he is Spike.

To Buffy, he gestured, giving her instructions on how to guard the other flank when she seemed confused, most of it with body language and his hands as the noise of battle was upon them. He waits for them to come at him, and he will be ready, even if he doesn't get a shiny new car. Maybe if he lives through this, he can get a spot on the Price is Right. He'd be good at that. And Drew Carey would like him. But can Vampires be recorded by television?

Ares has posed:
    Those moments of relief are blessed things provided by Giles' incantations. Even as the shadows whorl through the air and rush in, they take on the quartet with an almost automatic approach to combat. There is no inspiration in their movements, no shine of life. They merely strike and thrust and block with the enthusiasm of machines.
    Like a billowy dark tide the mass of shadows wash over them and there is no longer time for cries of valor, for shouts of inspiration. Now is the time for the killing, and such a job it shall be.
    The God of War's axe is a blur as it lashes around and strikes, cleaving the creatures in twain even as the shield at times comes around to smash into the wispy bodies. Shadows though they may be, they have substance, they have weight, and with the aid of Giles' spell, the defenders are able to /Hold/.
    A creature reaches towards Buffy with its pilum stabbing forth, only for Ares' shield to slip in the way and take defense of her.
    Another two try and take Spike in tandem, but for one to have its shoulder crushed under the weight of the heavy axe's impact.
    Now there are but screams and cries and shouts from the spirits of the damned. And through it all that vortex twirls, lashing the air.

Buffy Summers has posed:
As the shield comes in to block, Buffy calls out a hasty, "Thanks. Remind me to get one of those too!"

She spins, twists. Blocking and slicing, taking out shadow after shadow while trying to keep from getting cut into pieces. It's a deadly dance. She's using her feet, her hands and thta blade as she continues to hold the line with Ares and Spike. Automatically, they aid one another when necessary, even while battling their own foes. Through the course of the night, with the various monsters they have battled, they've learned more about one another and it shows. Already the heroes are a lethal combination. Imagine if they had more time in the trenches with one another.

There is no time to think about that as she takes the head off one only to have another thrust in, hitting her arm. She drops the machete. Her hand catches the spear the shadow used, wrenching it away with a spin and bringing that point around to take it in the chest. Then she spins the spear like a staff, the blunt end taking out another on her opposite side.

"Giles? How's that flashlight comin'?"

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles continues to chant and the words continue to grow in volume even as the noise of the battle picks up. His typically British accent has a whole other character to it, the words seeming to come out as if he were Egyptian, just one of those skills of a person who's dedicated their life to the study of the cyrptic and obscure. But he repeats a line and then pauses, waiting, as if expectin gsomething to happen. He repeats it again with more urgency. And then a third time.

And nothing happens before he almost turns the Ankh around...but anyone who has read the Bible or seen The 10 Commandments knows you don't strike the stone twice. And so he points the Ankh forward and as he calls forth again it springs to life once more, suddenly blazing a trail from the ring of defenders towards the portal. He can move it, a bit, widening the path some as creatures either obliterate or start to move out of its path, makign those flanks even more important. "Shall we...." he asks, walking towards the portal and even as he does one can see the sky starting to lighten. It's literally now or never as Giles waits for just the right momment, for the sun to start to peek over that monument Ares was standing on and shine its light on the purple vortex as well before tossing in the Ankh.

Spike has posed:
Spike is a seasoned combatant. He's never fought in any kind of a war, but he's been in more than a few donnybrooks. He's in his element, smashing the few that get past Ares and onto his side. He does what he can to ensure that Giles and the magic flashlight are protected, but he is somewhat distracted as he keeps looking over his shoulder, worried that the Ankh will suddenly start working and sear his backside. He's already burned one hand today, he doesn't fancy getting any other body parts tanned. "We shall," he replies to Giles, "though yesterday would have been better."

Ares has posed:
    As soon as that ankh flicks through the air, gleaming a clean arc over the shadowy creatures, it contacts that vortex, swirling and whorling until it comes into contact with that purple swirling energy. There's a moment when it connects with the first tendril, time seeming to freeze for a moment as it hangs in the air so close to that gateway.
    There's suddenly a sound like inrushing air being swallowed voraciously by the hole in reality. It holds that breath, and then with a /CRACKLE/ of power it suddenly bursts sending out a shockwave that flattens all the grass on the ground, knocking over all of those shadowy creatures that instantly begin to fade... and then washes over the defenders even as Ares steps forwards into it, trying to break the horizon of the shockwave with the braced shield in front of him.
    "Hoooold!" He screams over his shoulder as the sound seems to scream past them, ethereal skulls shriek as they rush by, then are sucked into that gateway...
    And then it's suddenly quiet... mostly. Save for a small after effect that seems to continue to swirl in the air where the vortex once was.

Buffy Summers has posed:
The shockwave almost bowls her over but Buffy manages to brace herself, maintaining her position and not budging from her place to the side of Ares.

Then just as suddenly, nothing. She blinks in surprise, looking around as though expecting another monster to leap out. A shadow being cast from one of them to come to life. But no, there is just that swirling where the vortex had been. If this is the end of the world, it's not so bad. If it's not, she's waiting for the next bomb to drop, tense, refusing to relax until she knows it's over.

"Did...we win?"

Rupert Giles has posed:
Giles gets knocked on his ass, there's no doubt about it. T he shockwave is going to throw him back nicely. Like a soccer ball lofting towards the goal by the British strikres of yore, so too does Giles arch and seem almost artistic as he careens before landing on his back on the grass (fortunately). He sits up, glasses cockeyed, and says...."I...think so?" But then he does something not -totally- expected, the Brit passes out. Not very common Giles but rituals are usually done with much preparation or in a group. He had time for neither and they exact a price. In this case, some of his strength. Nothing a good nap won't cure but he's going to miss the joy of wishing the God of War well as he clumps back into the grass and yeah...that'll teach him. But the sun itself continues to rise, the rays slightly obscured by some trees and the statue, giving Spike a few more moments to linger and bask in the victory, hopefully, while Giles gets to work on his librarian tan...much like a farmer's tan but only working on the face and hands.

Spike has posed:
"You're still here, standing, talking, so yeah, I think that about covers it." Shaking his head after replying to Buffy, Spike looks to Giles, expecting a better explanation than 'we won', not that he's liable to understand whatever the stuffy Librarian comes up with. But no further explanation seems to be coming after becoming airborne. Moving towards him, and not in the a free meal way, he says, "Giles, Giles!" He gives the man a shake, and then listens for a pulse. He has good ears. "He's still breathing, just passed out it. And see, no free lunch for Spike." Yes, he wants brownie points for not eating Giles.

Ares has posed:
    The sun, despite being just above the curve of the horizon, seems to cloud over as a great shadow sweeps over and acorss the town center, the statue behind them standing grim sentinel over the defenders even as they hold their place where they fought off the shadow horde.
    Ares kneels for a moment, "Sorcerer, a time of victory is not a time to spend unconscious!" But then he looks over at Spike and gives a short sharp nod of understanding. "Pity."
    But then that small swirl in the air abruptly /EXPLODES/ into a burst of darkness, like a bottle of ink was somehow tossed against an invisible wall, creating a splattered shape in black that hangs in the air. A voice rises, shrieking angrily like the vocal chords of two werewolvs stolen and played as the strings of a violin.
    "HOW!" The voice cries as out of that blackness steps...
    Ares? The great being eight feet tall furlly armored with a tremendous axe in his hand screams angrily, "HOW DO YOU CONTINUE TO LIVE!?" It throws its axe down. "Do you know how many times I have tried to kill you!"
    The great armored being, its shape seemingly entirely composed of shadow with plated armor, smashes a foot to the ground which seems to cause the earth to quake. "You turn your back on us. On me! And you have not the decency to DIE!"
    The armored creature tears its helmet off and /throws/ it at them, only for it to _SPANG_ off John Aaron's raised shield.
    "Do you not recognize me, father? Do you not know your own son!?"
    To which John Aaron's voice, robbed of all bravado, lifts to murmur. "Phobos."

Buffy Summers has posed:
That feeling in her stomach hasn't gone away. It's not because of her companions. It's something else.

Buffy started to go to Giles but Spike beat her. At his reassurance she glanced around, still that feeling of something more.

The explosion of darkness has her dropping into a fighting stance, that spear still in her hands. The darkness takes shape, forms. When she sees it, she looks over at Ares then back at the figure railing at them.

Whoever he is, he has some sort of issue with Ares. Why doesn't that surprise her? Not that he's making any sense untils he hears that F-bomb. No, not that one. The Father one. Which makes her drop the other F-bomb in a whisper, looking over at Ares with wide eyes.

And being her, she can't just step back and let the son scream at the father without her mouth opening and her foot getting firmly inserted into it. "This is all because someone has Daddy issues?!"

Ares has posed:
    "You are weakened, Phobos." John Aaron says quietly as he steps forwards, even as the other armored being glares at him with seething rage-filled eyes. They both look so very similar, Phobos being darker of skin and his eyes still glowing red even with the helmet removed.
    "That may be so, father. But I am still strong enough to kill you."
    "Your strength is gone. Your soldiers have fallen. There is no dishonor in having battled and lost. Accept this, Phobos. Choose one fate over the other."
    The armored being in front of the black nothingness draws his sword and scowls, "Never."
    "Then so be it," And then John Aaron lashes his arm to the side, the axe shifting into a short gladius, a stabbing blade as he breaks into a run and /CHARGES/ straight into his son.
    They come together with a clash, and for a time Phobos resits, his own sword stabbing into the shield that John Aaron holds high. The energy builds around them until suddenly Phobos' footing slips and they both /tumble/ back over the lip of that darkness...
    And suddenly disappear from view.
    Now it is all quiet. Now there is naught left to menace Sunnydale. For now... Olympus' eyes have turned away from the town. Hopefully to leave its denizens in peace.