Above all, his position, his calling, was to keep the seals safe. Entering the vault he could feel the holy aura weakening. The gods' power came from the faith of the mortals, Ultron inadvertently starved them, and now with the Saint attacking the Isle was not safe for the sacred seals. He rushed through the Temple of Light until he found them.
Tucking the seals under his arm he attempted to plane shift directly to Tyr's domain where safety was certain. He failed. The spell was cast, yet he did not move from where he stood. Perhaps, the traces of chaos magic held him despite the ritual, or perhaps with the weakened state of the Isle the shift was too far. The Grey Waste was a common intersection for planar travelers, peaceful and uninhabited it was close to everywhere. The sounds of clashing weapons and screaming warriors approached. He shifted.
The shift succeeded and Galan stood with his massive two handed holy sword drawn and at the ready. As far as eyes could see the landscape was the same waste high thin grey grass. Wind rustled the grass, its movement the only thing distinguishing it from the sky and dirt which wore the exact colorless shade.
It was not wind. The force struck with such velocity and heat that if not for years of battle the surprise would have landed him prone. Sharply and quickly he turned swinging his sword with his spin.
Sword struck steel of a azure hovering golemn, shapped like a man and glowing with azure light blinding compared to the grey emptiness which filled the space. The machine fired again, this time defenses up the Keeper felt nothing from the blast. Strike, strike strike. He ripped the machine to pieces which rested at Galan's feet. He watched color melt out of the blue metal. Something else was sliding through the grass.
He attempted to plane shift again and found his path blocked. Then sprang from the grasses came two disembodied spirit shrieking and slashing with their hands. The holy aura of the sword and his faith protected him from harm, as the two ghosts solidified into knife carrying thugs.
"I didn't expect to see you this far from Dragon. Merv must be on the move." Galan smiled as he held his ground. The Frenchmen's two assassins sprung at him again in physical form and regretted their decision. With an upward spin Galan's blade nearly cleaved one in half, following with a quick thrust he drove the second back over his own feet.
Blows were traded, and while Galan clearly held the advantage for the first time in years he felt the pain of battle. The spear of destiny which so valiantly protected him for years was gone. The pain served as a reminder he was vulnerable with out the spear and that defeat was possible. His moves became measured and cautious. Take nothing for granted.
Then a sharp pain enterred from his back. He jerked to see a cat creature attempting to retreat back ito the grass. He stabbed into the grass where he saw the cat go and using his god enhanced strength pulled up the weretiger dangling on the tip of his sword. The creature had the seals in his blood soaked hands. With a well measured snap, Galan shook the tiger from his blade and sliced the hands off at the wrists.
The Seals fell to the ground with a thunderous thud. Galan scooped them up in one hand as he turned to deflect the knife blow of his remaining assailant. The sword was unbalanced with only one hand but it was sufficent to block the blow, and even open his opponent to a spinning kick. The kick missed as the man turned ethereal for just a moment before solidifying and striking Galans throat with his knife.
As blood raced form his throat down his armor a new pain pierced his chest. Looking down he saw a spear of grey light impale and lift him off the ground. pain. Of greater concern was the the trail of grey light which carried the seals toward a dark cloaked figure about 50 yards away. Galan hurled his sword as the ghost assassin hitting his mark perfectly and destroying his foe.
He took a dagger from his belt and after just a second of calculation sent his racing toward the hooded man. The dagger strikes the man severing his fingers from his right hand and causing all the lights to cease. In one fluid move, Galan picks up his sword and sprints a straight line for the seals. The weretiger attempts to intercept but receives a palm strike for his troubles which sends him sprawling.
The hooded man sat on the ground cradling his crippled hand eyeing the seals which were no more than feet from him. "You disgust me." He spat as Galan as he lunged for his severed fingers. Galan swung a heavy level swing. The man scoffed, "You can not defeat Serpenthium." His mouth openned to laugh but no sound came out. A straight kick to the chest knocked Serpenthium's body back and caused his head to fall straight to the ground rolling forward passed the seals down the slope to be lost in the grass.
Galan watched the head roll and met eyes with another man striding toward him through the grass. This man ore a green cloak and cowl over shinny metalic armor. He war a mask forged of hellsteel with only small slots showing hate filled eyes. He was dragging something through the grass but Galan could not yet see it.
Galan shook his head as he realized his vision was blurred and body started to ache. He laid his hands on his throat to heal the wound, but the dizziness remained. Poison He gritted his teeth and used sheer will power to push back the effects.
The masked man spoke lifting Galan's trusted mount and friend, Anteleos, into the air over his head.
Galan spoke first, "Doom, I didn't take you for anyone's lackey especially the Merovingian. You want to tell me what is really going on here?" Doom responds, "My dear petulant child, I do not work for or with them. We simply want the same thing."
"I shall never surrender the seals, no matter the cost."
"Fool I know. I dare not insult you by offering a trade," Doom snapped the hippogriff's back by folding Anteloes him half over his head then casually tossed him to the side, "I do not trade for what I can take."
Lightning flew from gauntlet-ed hand.
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