"Join your power to his, hermit! Perhaps you both can hold off the storm without giving him the filters!"

Nephilim continues to stare down Sirach, not making a move to release the filters. Although he may be barred from directly opposing the other Scion due to their circumstances, there are other paths to take. "Fair enough Ossac... but Sirach, know that I'd rather us both die here than to allow Gwen to remain your hostage. There's still three more filters you want us to collect, right?"

Although barriers have never been Nephilim's strong suit, he does his best with what he has as he reaches forth into the chaos of the pyroclasm to extract whatever air and fire elementals he can find. Weaving together whatever comes as a result, preferrably with a focus on air, he tries to place his own barrier just behind Sirach's, one that will hopefully prove strong enough to halt this onslaught.

Sirach's eyes narrow at Nephilim's remark. So you did learn something...

Nephilim reaches out into the white-grey hell racing past and draws a fire and an air elemental.

...but you're a fool if you're willing to die for that woman.

Nephilim's channeling roll: 20

Nephilim weaves together the elementals he draws out of the storm, attempting to make a shield behind Sirach's. The effort would normally seem pitiful in the face of the oncoming maisma, but Nephilim does it as a token if nothing else.

As Nephilim manipulates the elementals, he is surprised to find a sudden strength flooding through him. Looking down, he sees the two mana filters he is carrying ignited in a glowing red and blue nimbus. Nephilim's simple spell is magnified, reflected, and multiplied a hundred-fold, threatening to spin out of control, elementals being torn from his body instead of carefully channeled.

NO! Sirach shouts in dismay, and lunges for Nephilim, abandoning his own shield. Nephilim does not care, the only thing that seems to matter is the intense power singing through him.

A whirlwind of fire rises around the group, holding the ash storm at bay, and cuts through the volcanic flow, rising to the surface of the storm to let a few rays of dawn stretch their fingers downward. The group can swear they see faces in the fiery whirlwind, faces of Nephilim gone on long before, swirling upward in a ghostly funeral pyre....

I am awake for the first time the thought drifts absently through Nephilim's mind.

Sirach's fingers lock around the fire filter and attempt to wrest it from Nephilim. Nephilim can feel Sirach struggling to control the direction of the weave, but to little avail. The spell has taken on a life of its own, and is no longer controlled by Nephilim or Sirach, it is a thing that exists merely for its own sake.

Enoch! Sirach's voice seems very far away you can't channel a five elemental weave! No one can!

Finally, Sirach gives up and stretches his hands to the distant blue dot in the whirlwind of red that marks the dawn sky. He closes his eyes and waits.

Nephilim can feel his body starting to come apart, but there is no pain. Light streams in thick beams from his eyes and mouth.

Down through the whirlwind of fire, from the red dawn miles above, a dozen shapes streak toward the earth like falling stars. Sirach opens his eyes as the first one draws near.

You've always been a stubborn one, Enoch he says but I need you alive... you're not going to burn yourself into oblivion just yet

The shapes arrive heralded by reports crackling electricity.

*KFAZSH* *KFAZSH* *KFAZSH*

Blood Fiends! The faces of the Nephilim howl in rage from the fiery whirlwind, but it takes all of their energy just to keep the ash storm at bay.

Each member of the group feels the strong arms of a Blood Friend grasping them from behind, and then one last resounding *KFAZSH*

...the world grows dim...

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Hundreds of miles to the north in the village of Wilderedge, the hunt festival is in full swing, and just drawing to the close of the fifth night. Dancers, revelers, musicians, entertainers, and tavern keepers alike mill about the village green beneath a canopy of colored lanterns and fireworks.

Some of the early hunting groups have just begun to return, one by one, and are being heralded as heroes... crowds flocking to see each pair of Orguk tusks entered to win ten thousand gold talents. Stories are traded over beer, village tanners, butchers, and artisans go to work on the huge carcasses of the jungle boar, not one piece is left unused. The tusks are polished and carried ceremoniously to the town hall, waiting to be judged.

Now the music is winding down, lulling villagers, artisans, hunters alike to return to their taverns and homes to rest up for another day of revelry. Couples walk along the pathways overlooking the cliffs of Greystone, listening to the sounds of the jungle far below and feeling the electric breeze carried up from the Darkmoon Sea whisper to them.

Suddenly, the music falters altogether, and a silence grows over Wilderedge. There is a red glow growing over the jungle, but far too early to be the dawn, and in the wrong place. Couples, hunters, artisans and villagers turn south and watch silently as the light grows, viscous fire arcing lazily into the pre-dawn air hundreds of miles away. For the moment the festival is forgotten. They are witnessing something far greater.

The Wilderedge dwellers know nothing of Sirach, of the lost hunting party that entered the Nephilim ruins, or of the Earthfall prophesy. They know that hundreds of miles to the south, "could be even as far as the Great Sea, young'un", a new mountain is being born.

The distant fire grows and grows and the entire village flocks to the cliffs to watch, hypnotized. This moment marks the beginning of something far too great to comprehend, and this is evident. The filter of Urun has been found, and two of the Scions walk the moons once more. The Twisted Ones have returned. The last chapter of the human race has begun.

The End.