Meltdown

Trevor burst into laughter. He could not help it. "You're in over your head, scientist. If it's reassuring fact you'd like, Utopia is not the place to find it. Here the dead walk, & sorcerers reign. Things are different here. Look to the horizon." Trevor points to the center of the city, Unity Spire. Unity Spire has become a bastion of condemnation. It is surrounded by swirling tangible darkness, a physical manifestation of evil, known to come up around areas infested with the impure. Clouds spiral around it, ranging from gray to black. At this point, Trevor begins to speak again. "Perhaps you do not understand, but this is no disease. This is no gambit for power. This is no mere crisis, capable of being treated like a wound. This is it. The Apocalypse. Ragnarok. The End of the World, the Bigger Bang, whatever the fuck you wish to call it. If you think me mad, no one will force you to accompany us."


And Tim, I swear to God, if you make this a stereotypical virus zombie RP, I will find you. And I will give you a stern talking to. It will involve lots of pointing & frowning. You know what it won't involve though? Fun.

Taylor stood there, deep in thought. Letting the other converse with each other. Whether or not the man named Tim joined their party or not didn't matter. He didn't even consider themselves a party. Flicking his lighter open and closed, staring through the Inquisitor. Feeling rather frustrated at his "tree fucker" comment. Deciding against saying anything, he finally announced his opinions.
"So now that we all know each other. Anyone want to take charge? We've been standing in the middle of this intersection here, blabbing our mouths off. 'Vatican this, Satanists that'. Talking about how much shit hit the fan, and how big the fan is, isn't going to help anything. And don't threaten me with violence either" He said, staring directly at the boy with the pipe. "I got enough explosives to take down half a city block."
He felt a rush of adrenaline and his cheeks flushed red. Taylor stared at his feet.
"I'm sorry..I get..frustrated when I'm nervous. Regardless, where do you think we should start investigating?"












Also.

Sorry.

"Now we're talking!" Jakub raised his voice, and raised himself from the rock. "I'm really surprised that the bomber-man here shows more initiative than you do, viking." He said, looking at Trevor. "I always thought that the Norse folk were eager to act, and not that keen to talk. Well, unless they were drunk. Then it's the other way."
He walked up couple of steps away from the group, and pointed in that direction with his finger. "Halls of Messiah. That's where this shit started. That's where we are going to go."
He turned around, with his arm and finger still extended, to point at the young pagan. "And you, viking. I admire your skill with that pipe of yours, but if we are to encounter something bigger and meaner than a corpse, you're not going to be of much use. We are in the Midgard sector, so I assume that you know where to find arms."

Okay, Trevor, sorry. I didn't mean to incite your allmighty Hammer of Thor (Get it? It's Norse mythology! Oh I'm a riot...) at the mention of an alternating viewpoint. I'll leave the virus shit alone.
Tim glanced at all three of the others, nervously. They hadn't taken kindly to his factual findings about the zombies, the very findings that had gotten his sister killed, so he decided to leave it alone. It didn't matter too much, anyways, they weren't going to singlehandedly stop this with some more information about what they were fighting. He had to stoop himself more in the present, because when you look too far ahead and lose sight of what is around, you might wind up dead. They died when you shot their brains, made sense, simple.
He briefly considered taking on a leadership role in the group, but their trust seemed especially wavering when it came to him, so he quickly dismissed the thought. The spire that Trevor had pointed out did seem a somewhat supernatrual aura about it. He also realized that holding still was a surefire way to end up eaten alive, so he began to look for higher ground. He knew their eventual goal to be the Halls of the Messiah, where the Christians were and the zombies had come from, and the next waypoint to be some sort of armory in this place, Midgard, where Trevor was from. He kept his pistol out, pointing it at the ground, in a ready position. Someone, no, something had groaned.

Trevor sighed, looking at his pipe. He had enjoyed using the pipe while it lasted, combat with it was so much more personal. Oh well. He said, "I agree, enough talk. I do indeed know where to find weapons. The Hand of Tyr is a good place," He pointed to a building not far off, 30 feet or so. It was adorned by two neon battleaxes, flickering on & off & about to give way. "I've got the keys to the Store-room, it will likely be the only part not hit by looters." He sneered as he said this. Trevor despised looters, they preyed on chaos for their own selfish goals. But now was not the time. "You, scientist, I'll need your assistance to make sure the place is clear, seeing as how you're the only one who has an automatic antique, no offence, Sir Jakub. Once we're sure, I'll open the back room. It should contain some combat ready weapons. Some Battle Axes, a few bombs, some chainblades, & some of the firearms we bought from Bradley Systems, along with other nice deathy things. Now let us be away, Ragnarok will not wait for us." With this, the young Viking began to walk, or rather march, as his strides were large, & confident, towards the weapon shop.

As Trevor opened the door the the building a scream could be heard down the road. Taylor was the only one that flinched from it, looking around him at the others, no one returned glances. Trevor gave off a sigh, sliding the key in to the lock and with a click it opened. Taylor stared inside, hesitant to walk in. There was the odor of sweat and oil protruding from inside. Jakub and Tim pushed past him. The Inquisitor was smiling, the scientist looked like he was in his own little world. He followed them in, nervously. As he stepped inside, Trevor had turned on the lights in the back room revealing a very intimidating weapon shop. The guns looked like they were made from brass, wood and iron. Cogs of all sizes could be seen under the golden casings. The weapon's looked homemade. Most of them followed a similar pattern in design and shape. Not even a brand name on it. Each gun was an individual in it's own right. Ranging from clockwork rifles to rather impressive gas powered fully automatics. The entire store was imposing. Wandering through the shop, he caught Jakub picking up and examining a minigun. Taylor thought to himself that he'd seen everything. Large melee weapons were scattered across the northern wall. Battle axes the size of a small child, swords so sharp they looked like they could cut the air. As Taylor questioned the tactical purpose of attaching a bayonet the size of a broadsword on the end of a rifle, the Viking spoke to us all from his room in the back.
"Pick your poison but do it quickly, this light will surely attract some attention." He said.
A door slammed shut and Trevor walked to our group with a large crate of ammunition.
"Hollow tipped, explosive, tungsten, silver. You name it and it's probably in here." He said with a laugh.
As Taylor loaded a rifle, he thought to himself calmly.
The Viking was insane.

Trevor felt rather comfortable. The smell of war lingered in this room. Trevor thought it was nice. As he paced the room, he pondered what weapons he would be taking. Eventually, he settled upon a wicked curved Battle Axe, so horrendously sharp it could cleave a man in one stroke. He picked a a leather Backstrap, buckling it on & adjusting it for comfort, then slid the axe into it. He felt surprisingly good. He would have felt better in his armor, he reflected, but he couldn't see the others agreeing to go back for Norse tradition. He casually approached a large stack of crates, towards the back of the room, & slowly slid them to the side. You couldn't be too careful, after all. There were some things in this shop that could make a very potent boom. Eventually, he found what he'd been searching for. A plain, wooden box. It was beautifully crafted out of mahogany, smooth to the touch, & smelling faintly of oil. He lifted the top portion of it, & resting inside was his prize. Laying on top of smooth velvet was his steel. A revolving pistol, crafted to fire his favourite, incendiary buckshot. The pistol was large, but also elegant, made out of forged steel with a chrome finish, & a fiery redwood grip, clearly crafted with love & skill. He gently picked it up, giving the cylinder a spin with his hand. It wouldn't do to be so slow, he knew, but some things, like reuniting with an old friend, should not be rushed. He fetched a well maintained hip holster, & after buckling it on, slid the gun into it. Now he was himself again. The Norse Warrior. He grabbed a pouch of incendiary buckshot & tied it to his waist, then spoke. "I hope you're enjoying yourselves, but we must be away soon." As he smiled a warrior's smile, he added "Our quarry awaits."

After getting bored with examining the steam powered minigun that the Inquisitor found on one of the walls, he put it back on it's place. He picked up a Norse broadsword, making two quick cuts aimed at the air, and almost immediately put it back. Even though the weapon was sharp, and the hilt felt comfortable, his saber was much faster and more precise. He walked around the room once, and seeing that the vikings did not use black powder, he rested against the wall, waiting for the others to finish, his arms crossed.
Like always, the smile on his face was nonexistent.
He was also the first one to react when a savage growl could be heard from the closed room next to him, followed immediately by the door disappearing in a cloud of splinters. Jakub covered his face with one hand, protecting his eyes from the pieces of wood. A huge, bearded man, dressed in full Norse battle armor appeared in the doorway. He was holding a flamethrower. The nozzle was aimed at the middle of the room, where the others stopped picking their weapons to see what is going on.
The young Inquisitor did the first thing he could think of. He reached for his saber, grabbing the comfortable curve of the handle with his right hand. He pulled it free, cutting upward as the weapon left the scabbard. He aimed for the nozzle of the dreadful weapon.
He hit.
The metals clashed as the enemy pressed the trigger of his flamethrower. The Inquisitor's blade carried the flamethrower nozzle up, and a cone of deadly fire erupted and hit the ceiling, harmlessly for the others.
Jakub struggled to hold the enemy's weapon away from the group, grabbing the saber with two hands. He was sure he could hold on, but he had no means of damaging the pyromaniac. He saw his opponent reach to the side, pulling out a broadsword with his free hand.
Jakub cursed in his thoughts.

Trevor was moving before he was thinking. Before he had knew what he was doing, he had slid two broadswords off of the wall. He then stepped with practiced precision, turning as he did so, to be in between the two, raising his left arm to cleave the flamethrower & catch his brethren's blade, & his right for the Inquisitor's. He then heard himself shouting, "That is quite enough Bjorn! What in Nifelheim is wrong with you?" The man just panted heavily, as if he were some sort of animal. Trevor swore. He'd seen this happen to men. Battle madness. When a fragile mind had seen too much, it simply snapped. Bjorn had always had a somewhat fragile mind. However, these thoughts were rudely interrupted by Bjorn tossing Trevor out the door. He landed very painfully on some rubble, breaking nothing, but feeling the fall quite well. As Bjorn came to meet him, he spotted the Inquisitor bringing his flintlock to bear on his head, the scientist raising his fucking antique, & the quiet one searching for a weapon he fancied frantically. Trevor shouted, "Nay, this is not your battle to fight! You shall not rob him nor I of this." With that, he tossed away the second broadsword & rose to his feet. He tested the remaining sword. Good heft. Sharp. He'd chosen well. Bjorn charged him, raising his blade high to arc down. Trevor dodged to the side, crashing the blade's flat on the back of Bjorn's helmet. The blow sent him sprawling, but he managed to recover, getting to his feet. He was now wobbling on his feet, though. Again, he charged, raising his blade high, & again, Trevor sidestepped the attack, this time, Bjorn paid for his lack of tactics with his head. It toppled to the ground, rolled, & stopped short of a pile of rubble. Trevor approached what was left of Bjorn & knelt. He could be heard muttering under his breath. This was his prayer to Odin.

"Well." Started the Inquisitor, slowly hiding the saber back in it's sheath. "Let's try to be more careful next time, shall we? When there is a viking armory that we absolutely must visit, we ought to check for any madmen with flamethrowers."
He strode down to meet the kneeling Nord. He reached with his hand to help him up. "You're quite skilled with a blade, brother. However, you're lucky that the foe you were facing lost all his wits. Actually... we all are lucky."
Suddenly, the young Catholic realized his mistake. He turned his back to the doorway.
The silence was interrupted by another growl. A thrown hand axe was on a collision course with his head.
The Inquisitor fell to the ground, a desperate effort to avoid his skull being cleaved in half.
The weapon flew past him, embedding itself in a wall.
Jakub lifted his head, and looked at the doorway.
He cursed in his thoughts.
They came face to face with a possessed Norse Hersir, a menacing, dark figure clad in thick, black armor, with a scary two handed battle axe in his grasp. A shoulder mounted mini-cannon in his arsenal had it's fuse already lit.
The firearm was ready to unleash it's miniature hell on Trevor and Jakub.

BOSS-FIGHT. WE CANNOT KILL HIM. Make it interesting.

Tim was momentarily awestuck by the violence of action of the black, hulking figure now standing eight feet away from him. He had wasted no time in initiating contact, finding the largest opponent and swiftly going about romoving him as a threat. Fortunately, Jakub had managed to dodge it in time, an especially fortunate fact considering that he had been speechless and Taylor...well, he had seemed to notice but perhaps was also speechless. No time for reflection yet, stay in the present, damn it! Tim raised his Walther, but restrained himself from firing until it looked like the fuse of the behemoth's huge shoulder cannon was about to reach his goal. The gunshots rang with far more vigor than he had anticipated, and judging by the looks on the faces of Trevor and Jakub, it wasn't just him. He couldn't tell if it shocked the Viking beast standing in the doorway, he couldn't see his face. But as the nine millimeter bullets richocheted off of the black figure's side plate and helmet, the hulk turned towards him and his cannon shot off loudly, but harmlessly, away from Trevor and Jakub and the immense ball landed with a satisfying thud a few feet to the left and back of him. The beast started to lumber towards him and Tim saw no apparent weakpoints in his armor, so he started strafing to his right, popping off two rounds as he made his way towards the middle of he room, where Trevor and Jakub were. They had recovered from the inititial shock and realized they weren't dead yet, so they raised their respective weapons and got into combat stances. Taylor, who had been on the other side of the room checking out more explosives when the giant came in, was stealthily working his way behind him as he brought his axe to bear. Tim saw him reach into his construction belt, and hoped what he would pull out would do as much damage to the bastard as possible.

This is freaking sick.

Taylor crouched in silent awe, fumbling through his belt trying to find an explosive that could at least cripple the beast. Pulling his eyes away from the beast and to his feet, he spotted an incendiary grenade. Knowing that only a large explosive could cripple the beast, such an explosion would bring the roof down on everyone. The only way we'd get out of this was to blind him through his helmet. He held up the rifle with one hand, the grenade was in the other. Resting it on his second arm, he fired the rifle twice to the back of the monsters head, cocking it with a swing. One of the bullets richocheted back, taking off a chunk of Taylor's ear. His adrenaline was pumping so quickly that he didn't feel the pain. The Hersir grunted, swung his axe back in to his left hand and turning around faster then he expected. Gasping, Taylor threw the rifle at it, priming the grenade with his teeth. Throwing it, he prayed that the flame would carry in to the gaps of his helmet. Blind him, bind the metal to his flesh. Let the metal cook him. Something! The Hersir let out a howl. A blood drunk howl. Taylor's heart sank and fear gripped him. It only pissed him off.
"Run!" He shouted. "Get the fuck out, I'm lighting my belt on fire!"
He untied his belt and opened the pockets, revealing a series of fuses. Pulling out his lighter, he prayed that the others heard him.

Shit. The treefucker was out of his mind. Trevor rose quickly, & rushed into the shop, shouting "Hold him off, I'll be right out!" Altogether, the little one, the quiet one, & the Inquisitor yelled "Are you fucking INSANE?!" He didn't really care. Just some essentials, he stuffed a few rifles & shotguns into a sack he had taken from the wall, followed by 2 or 3 automatics, & some assorted blades. He then turned to the ammo box & haphazardly shoved some ammo into the sack, & threw some bandoleers over his shoulders. With this, he strung the bag onto his shoulder & took off running out the door, shouting, "I believe now is a good time to leave!"

Bzzzt. Time machine. My perspective on what happened right after Trevor yelled "Hold him off"

"Fuck." cursed the Inquisitor as soon as the young viking disappeared, quite possibly to dig out more weapons.
It seemed like the giant had noticed that their group was preparing to flee, as he freed one of his hands from the battle axe,
and started reloading his shoulder mounted mini cannon. This time, the projectile had a fuse of it's own.
Not being able to think of any other way, Jakub raised his saber.
He charged at the monster, and slashed, strength of both of his hands going into the strike. Now that the Hersir's weapon was lowered, the Inquisitor knew he had no chance of raising his weapon in time. The blow will go directly in between his black helmet and armored torso, taking off the head in one swipe.
The Hersir lifted his giant axe with one hand, putting it on the path of the curved blade. Jakub was thrown off balance. He put all his strength and momentum into this blow, but the axe was held by, what seemed to be, a hand made of solid steel.
The Inquisitor jumped back, going into a classic saber stance, with the free hand behind his back, his hand raised, the blade held diagonally towards the floor.
He overwhelmed the Hersir with a never ending flow of cuts, varying the direction of every blow.
The Hersir responded with a never ending flow of blocks, wielding the axe with inhumane strength. One handed. It's blade was always spot on where the saber tried to be.
The two were surrounded by a flurry of flashes, whenever steel met steel. The sounds of their combat filled the air.
The Inquisitor has failed.
The Hersir was almost done reloading his mini cannon.
This time, he would fire an explosive round, and with all the ammunition stored in the shop, that was sure to take them all out.

Back to the present. Trevor comes back with the bag.

Tim gawked at the combat prowess of both the giant and the Inquisitor. He was glad that some one had the skill to take him on up close, because he couldn't. He was good with guns and some hand-to-hand combat, and not much else. The present, damn it, stay in the present! He looked at Taylor's construction belt, so many fuses burning up. He looked at the now returned Trevor, thank god for the crazy son of a bitch, he brought back guns. He looked at Taylor, obviously getting in position to sprint out of the room, and the building, knowing the potential destructive force of his own arsenal. And Jakub, retreating from his position by the beast, defeated despite his best efforts. Jakub turned around and shouted something, but he couldn't hear it. He yelled it again, and now he understood. "The cannon's shooting an explosive round! Get the fuck out of here!" Taylor bolted past the black giant, far too fast for the lumbering Hersir, and went right out of the door. Jakub meneuvered to his left, trying his best to parry the Hersir's assaults as he went past, then ran out. Just Tim and Trevor remained, the latter weighed down by all of the weapons he carried. Tim rushed too him and shouted, "Give me some of the guns, I'll go left, you go right!" Trevor hesitated, then threw him a shotgun and two rifles, as well as a bandolier. Tim put his Walther back in his waistband and brought the shotgun to bear, shouldering the rifle and the bandolier. He made sure it was loaded and smiled at Trevor's forethought. They looked at each other and nodded, sprinting to either side of the black figure, both of them shooting with extreme prejudice. Once they passed him, narrowly avoiding multiple axe blows and punches, one of which grazed Tim in the right shoulder, they ran to the exit, turning to pepper the Hersir with some departing fire as they went through the doorway. As the beast turned, his cannon went off, hitting a wall and igniting some especially explosive ammunition. Three long seconds later, Taylor's belt went off, exploding in a beautiful, bright fireball that consumed the Hersir whole. Tim kept running, only stopping when he felt he was far enough out of shrapnel range. Tim rubbed his shoulder and caught his breath.

The Inquisitor sat down silently, catching a breather while watching the remains of the armory collapse in the fire.
He thought about his fight with the Hersir, analyzed his mistakes, thought about what to correct, what to avoid doing. He realized that starting the fight was the only mistake he made. If the possessed viking was not purely defensive, focusing on reloading his cannon, Jakub would most likely be dead.
The Inquisitor's train of thoughts was interrupted by a loud barrage of gunfire. He looked at the fiery remains of the viking armory.
The Hersir was back... with a minigun. His right arm was now only covered in chain mail, the armor plates ripped off by the explosion.
"Halls of the Messiah! NOW!" - the Inquisitor yelled, rushing to get up, ready to flee.

Trevor stood, dropping the guns & ammunition. He had tired of this petty game. He reached into the bag, producing a long, wicked spear. He took careful aim. His enemy was about 50 yards out, closing fast. Easy prey. He switched his stance, noticing the barrels of the Hersir's weapon had begun to rotate. His vision tunneled. There was nothing in his world but himself, the spear, & the Hersir. He took a step forward, & launched the spear. It spun beautifully, cutting through the air like the wind itself, & sunk through the possessed Norsemen's right arm, cutting through the armor as if it were butter. The beast howled in pain & rage. It was was blinded, confused, & now criplled. The Minigun fell to the floor as he gripped his shoulder. Trevor turned slightly, & spoke. "That should buy us some time. Fight, or flight?"

The now wounded viking monster howled loudly, lifting his head.
Men dressed in wolf and bear skins started emerging from the fire behind him, armed with a very wide assortment of weapons, from large, two handed axes, to even machine guns and rifles. There was a lot of them.
The Hersir pulled out the spear in one, swift motion from his wounded arm. He didn't even flinch. He took aim, swinging his arm backwards and threw the spear right back at the young viking, with triple the speed and strength.
The projectile was right on target. Trevor had his back turned towards the Hersir, busy asking the group whether they should flee or not.
The Inquisitor reacted in the only way he could think of.
He ran towards the young pagan and dove, body-checking him to the ground.
The viking was safe.
The spear went past them.
He grunted, slowly starting to get up.
He looked at the young viking, with no expression on his face.
"Fight or flight? How does.. Let's fucking run! sounds like?" He said quietly.
The Hersir had already picked up the dropped minigun.
The barrels were already in motion.
The bullets whizzed past them like lead mosquitoes.
The Inquisitor was hit by several of them, none of them hitting their mark directly, but scratching and nicking his flesh painfully.
He helped the pagan up, they started running.
Jakub felt an agonizing sting in his right shoulder. Blood started flowing from the blood like a river, marking his black T-Shirt.
Luckily, the bullet missed bones, and went straight through.
"Where... where can we go? Hide... fucking.. something." he said to the young viking next to him.
Blood loss caused his pace to be a little slower. He was staying behind.

Trevor was now infuriated. He had been wasteful, & stupid. He knew throwing the spear was a bad idea. He had known when he stopped to do it. But he couldn't help it. He was what he was, & he was a Norse Warrior's son. If there is a problem, kill it. If you cannot kill it, train harder, bring friends, & kill it. He had trained hard enough, to be sure, after all, he just threw a spear 50 fucking yards. (He was still shocked & impressed by that, despite how cocky he could be) But still, now the Hersir was enraged, & he was forced to flee. FLEE. Oh, if his father could see him now, in this rat pack of cowards. Oh well. He picked up the weapons & ammo, & turned on his heels & began to run with the others.

Hey, I know I'm being kind of a bitch here, but let's make an effort to not have many, or any, edits. I spend a goodly amount of time making these posts and poring over previous ones to affirm my facts are straight, though I don't doubt you guys do, too, not to mention revising and reaccessing my mental wordbank to prevent too many vocabulary repeats. When a plot is changed so dramatically and I have to remake my post (I'm aware I could just go through and redo only past referencing plot points in my prose, but then the result is choppy and not to my, or your, liking), it puts my previous effort to waste, no matter how good it might have been. Thank you.
Tim crouched low to the ground, first staring at the incoming tracers from in front of the burning building, then at the source of those tracers, the Hersir. He was still alive and kicking, and even though Trevor had spered him, SPEARED him, in the arm, he still held the minigun as though it were a toy, giving moderate truth to the guns name. He turned and sprinted, seeing blood spurt from the Inquisitor's shoulder, Trevor mumbling to himself. Both were retreating just as fast as him, though Jakub looked like he might start slowing down. Stray bullets still whizzed by all around, and Tim couldn't see Taylor. Where was he? It didn't matter yet, not yet. First, survival. Tim reached a piece of rubble, not an especially large one, but big enough. He dove behind it, struggled to take the rifle he had taken from Trevor in the armory off of his back and into his hands, and then leaned out slightly. Once he had done so, he looked down the rifle's sight. He figured he had three shots before the Hersir focused in on him, so he had to make them count. The first one was aimed around the area where Trevor's spear had wounded him, and it hit him in the right bicep, causing him to momentarily lurch backward, enraging him and causing him to return firing wildly and innacurately, as he was concentrated on finding who shot him. The second shot was aimed at his inner elbow, trying to permenantly cripple that arm. It hit him in his forearm, barely below his mark. Tim thought briefly then removed his bandolier from his back. He found a magazine of orange-tipped rounds that said 'INCENDIARY' on the side and loaded them in his rifle. He aimed at the ammo drum on the left side of the gun, closed his left eye sighted it in ind fired. A small yellow flame lit the drum, then a larger orange flame, then an explosion. By the time the drum exploded, he had already put his rifle and his ammo back with their straps over his shoulder, and he ran. The whizzing stopped.

The Inquisitor had stopped, dropping on both his knees in a very sudden halt.He rested against a large piece of rubble, and reached into his linen bag with one hand. Pulling out a small glass cylinder filled with red powder, he immediately broke off the top of it against the hilt of his sheathed saber.
He grunted, as the rather intense painkiller started working.
Something heavy fell on him.
It was one of the Ulfserkers chasing them. The possessed Nord leaped onto the Inquisitors back right after he finished applying the painkiller to his wound.
Jakub managed to turn around despite the heavy mass pushing him to the ground, only to see a flash of a raised battle axe.
The viking howled in triumph.
The Inquisitor has realized a terrible thing.
They were being surrounded.
The Ulfserker's howl changed into a scream of pain when a stray bullet fired by one of his comrades disintegrated most of his fingers of his left hand. He stopped the deadly strike, buying the Inquisitor enough time to pull out his saber and slash, a purely reflexive action.
The axe, still grasped by dead fingers of the viking's hand flew forward, leaving a trail of blood in the air.
the blade of the axe embedded itself in the ground, inches away from the young Inquisitor's face.
The second slash of the steel curve cleaved the mad one's jugular.
Ulfserker reached for his throat with both stumps, a grotesque and desperate attempt at stopping the fountain of blood.
The Inquisitor finally pushed him off and stood straight, his saber held to the side.
He watched the Ulf and Berserkers as they climbed the rubble, closing a circle around the group, a marvelous display of flanking maneuvering.
At least the Hersir was now gone, the rattle of his minigun ceased it's music.

The Halls of The Messiah were so close. Looming over the street where our party stood. Surrounded and tired, Taylor surveyed the scene around him. The others were tired, but look determined. We hadn't come this far to die. Loading his rifle quickly, Taylor tried to find a suitable gap to run through between the berserkers. Climbing over cars, rubbles and their fallen comrades they closed in quickly.
"I am going to shoot a path straight through the ones approaching from the North and run to the Halls. I hope that you can keep up, or you're going to be left behind." He said coldly.
Cocking the gun, he aimed the barrel towards the Halls, crouched in a sprinting position and prepared to shoot and drop the gun.
The boy meant every word.

The Inquisitor was quick to realize Taylor's plan. He was equally quick to realize how easily that plan can be thwarted by the three madmen, now approaching the vulnerable back and sides of the boy, who was too busy aiming his rifle north.
Jakub ran as fast as he could, reaching Taylor before the Ulfserkers did, and turning his back to him.
Stance. Saber forward. Free hand behind the back.
"Focus." Jakub said, both to the boy with the rifle, as well as to himself.
The first madman closed the distance, the horizontal slash of the axe was narrowly redirected by the Catholic's saber in a quick circle parry that lifted the axe blade, making it go inches above the Inquisitor's head. With his hands raised like that, the viking was open for a quick counterattack.
The European cursed in his thoughts, realizing that there was no time.
The second Ulfserker attacked, his overhead blow swiftly parried and redirected by the curved blade of the Inquisitor's weapon.
The third crazed viking was not far behind.
Three against one.
Horrible odds.