by A Uscila
Luckily for both Borg and his Asian companion - they escaped quite lightly. Borg - who managed to block with that wooden shield of his, escaped with but a few feathers sticking out of his limbs. As for his colleague? Every single projectile shattered on contact with the seemingly impenetrable purple sphere - leaving not a scratch upon it. Quite the cheat - isn’t he?
“And where do you think, you’re going?” - A croaking voice echoed from within the woods. Its source revealed once light came into being - a fireball held within a bony hand. A balding scalp, sunken eyes accompanied with stuck out cheekbones. Limbs sharply sticking out from beneath a long dark robe - various red symbols littering its surface. Indeed - seems like Wail was the one responsible for all this senseless violence. Who would have guessed it?
For a brief moment - a large gathering of various individuals were revealed together with Wail. Most of them being rugged, mean-looking outlaws. Armed to the teeth and surprisingly well armored. Every single one - with a studded leather jerkin, metal knee pads and of course - leather hoods to cover their facial features. Every self-respecting bandit required to be stricken with a case of social-awkwardness and social-anxiety.
While the light cast by Wail’s fireball illuminated the scene - both Borg and his colleague were able to fully take in the severity of their situation. Moods were not improved.
As if that wasn’t enough - without a second of discussion, Wail decided to display his overly-offensive and questionably sane nature - by throwing the before-mentioned fireball at the closest foe. Which was the martial artist stereotype.
Unsurprisingly - the fire slammed and quickly scattered upon contact. Seemingly doing absolutely nothing to damage the target.
“Well isn’t that interesting…” - Wail could only mumble under his nose, though was not able to continue as his violent actions invited a likewise reply.
With but a few lightning fast strides - the Asian approached Wail’s position and swung his pole weapon sideways - illuminating his surroundings with a faint purple light.
Facing such a sudden and completely unexpected counter-attack, Wail could only crouch and jump to the side, while the companions in close proximity either jumped back or fell on their butts.
After barely dodging that attack, the anorexic magician quickly got up and dashed as far away from that crazy old guy as possible. Didn’t go far, as the offender caught up quickly enough - all while swinging about that weapon of his like crazy. Threatening to cut poor Wail into numerous little pieces, a purple afterimage fading in and out of existence after each swing. Quite the light show - as purple and red clashed, Wail desperately attempting to slow down the foe - throwing numerous fireballs without even turning back. Quite the accuracy, considering he wasn’t even looking where the fiery projectiles were thrown - yet every single one managed to shatter upon the purple sphere.
Of course - the distance might have had something to do with it. After all - two were barely a meter apart.
While the two clashed - momentarily illuminating their surroundings after each clash, a skulking figure kept on being revealed. One that seemed to be in close pursuit of the pole-wielding attacker. It ran after the two - each step more crooked than the other. Seemingly moments away from tripping - yet it continued on. A broken down blade in hand. Armor melted onto bare skin - scorched and pale. Not a drop of blood present. Quite the monstrosity - and quite the commitment. So many friendly individuals present - yet it seems that minion number one was the only one rushing to the rescue.
At one point - the bladed pole weapon managed to catch Wail’s left leg after a sweeping strike. Blood, sand and grass flew about - and the magician ended up falling on his nose. An unfavorable development.
“Allow this Sensei to teach you a lesson in courtesy” - A cool phrase before a finishing move. This guy seemed to be locked within his own world, within a world. Of Alternative Reality. He raised his pole high and threatened to stab down on poor Wail. His plan did not come to fruition.
At the last moment, the magician managed to roll away - while minion number one finally caught up, slamming into the purple sphere will all his body weight. Which wasn’t a lot.
It did the trick though - as Sensei stumbled and stabbed at the ground, instead of the previously intended target.
“Sensei? Seriously? How stereotypical can you get?” - Wail exhaled, with mockery escaping together with hot air. A flick of a finger and a spark appeared from between his fingers. With no visible haste, it descended towards the ground. Seemingly ignorant of the dire circumstance.
After slamming into Sensei, minion number one didn’t waste a second, before displaying unconventional fighting style. It clawed and slammed against the sphere with all its might - chipping away the broken sword even more than it already was, since nothing seemed to faze the shiny surface. Being a team-player, Wail didn’t fall behind - as he threw in one fireball after the other, without forgetting about a much needed tactical retreat. He certainly wasn’t running away. Oh no. Not Wail.
*******
Contrary to the heated battle - Wail’s previous position saw none of the same, since everyone seemed either preoccupied with observation or were simply waiting for who knows what. That included Borg, who seemed to be lost in thought. For the majority of the ongoing conflict he stared off blankly into the ground beneath his feet - only to finally take action.
With axe still in hand - the burly warrior reached towards a bag that hung from his belt. Taking out a bottle filled with red liquid from the seemingly bottomless container.
Borg shattered the neck of that small bottle on the edge of his axe and emptied its content down his throat - only to throw the now empty glass to the ground. The glass container shattering after slamming into pebbles - pieces scattering between the grass. Once done – a miraculous sight took place. Arrow heads popped out of their spots, while the holes made by the former closed up slowly. Cuts, bruises – everything seemed to go through a rapid healing process – until all but tender meat and stains of dried blood remained.
Once that was done and over with - the valiant bulk of muscle and vigor lifted up his shield and charged in a straight line. Destination? Wail’s idle companions, who didn’t move an inch during the whole exchange.
Faced with the unexpected speed of Borg’s charge - none of them were able to properly react or dodge, as the shield slammed into the foremost two bandits. Knocking them off their feet and forcing out a sudden outburst of uncontrollable affection towards the ground from both of them. Their hands dug deep into the earth - in a strained reflex to break the fall. It served only to shorten the distance that the two slid away - which might have quickened their more than likely end. Since Borg didn’t need to go far to reach them - all he needed to do now, was to rip his way through those who were brave enough to stand in it. Surprisingly - there was no shortage of such individuals. Swords, spears and daggers flashed, as at least six outlaws wanted to have a piece of Borg. Only to be joined by the two recently knocked down fellows - most likely here for some retribution and absolution from the previously faced embarrassment.
Strikes pierced towards his chainmail - providing a bruise at most, as the blades were unable to get through. With swift movement - he parried blows with his shield and axe, sometimes counter-attacking with one or the other. Like a war machine - moving about in one place, seemingly unfazed by the immense pressure.
Yet a cut here, a hole there - wounds were gradually appearing all over his unprotected limbs. Seeing as places without chainmail were only protected by leather. None of which seemed to have much of an effect.
Borg tried to break out of the encirclement - by slamming into the closest bandit with his shield. Yet before he could get far enough or finish off the fella - some other pest would always get in the way. Quite the teamwork. These country bumpkins were not your usual ragged gathering of easy pickings.
At this point - Borg’s patience finally ran out. An ear-numbing roar escaped his widely opened mouth, accom
panied by an invisible force that slammed into every single bandit around. Knocking all of them off their feet - stunning the poor bastards as they fell face first into the sparse grass beneath.
A barely visible aura of red covered his bulky figure - rising up in the form of sparse steam. Borg’s eyes turned to a similar shade as well - as the very atmosphere surrounding him seemed to change. Without sparing time for boastful poses of self-appreciation - he turned to the nearest victim and surprisingly - threw his axe at him. What a throw that was - as it accurately slammed into the poor outlaws back, easily shredding through studded leather. That’s one down - seeing as he won’t be getting up any time soon, being mortally wounded and all.
Reluctant to lend his weapon for longer periods of time - Borg decided to call in the loan. With large strides, he approached the bloodied fella and reached for his trusted axe.
Not all plans reach fruition sadly, as yet again - a foe decided to get in the way.
Dark light flashed - as a shimmering blade slammed against a well-placed block - Borg sent stammering back a few steps from the sheer force of the blow.
What stood in his way this time - was a probable sex-deviant. At least judging by the amount of bare skin displayed. Well built, wide shoulders - though not enough to have issues going through doors. Completely bald, with scorched eyebrows and a mean glare. A vicious scowl to accompany that - as if he didn’t seem unfriendly enough already.
This new arrival wore a leather belt strapped across his waist - a means to hold the scabbard that hung on his back. Scorch marks littered his body, with a section of it on his right shoulder blackened. A spike of the same color serving as an accessory for the unique region.
A pair of tight fitting leather shorts in addition to that – their purpose seemingly no more than to cover up private parts. Guess there was indeed a meager amount of self-respect within the inner-workings of his mind. Or moral integrity. Or pity for those who would be forced to look upon him. Of course – it is possible that someone just forced it on the deviant.
Either way - that was basically it. He didn’t even have any shoes - which did make him look like one of those nature loving hippies, who preferred to enjoy the relaxing method of traveling-about barefooted.
What a lunatic.
Borg didn’t seem to like him from first glance. For good reason as well.
“Who the heck are you supposed to be?” - From time to time, people are unable to contain their loathing towards another individual within the confines of their minds. Thus opening the lid ever so slightly and venting vocally ends up as an inevitability. Borg’s face twisted into one of pure disgust and dissatisfaction - as the words seeped out through clenched teeth.
“Your mom” - Was all the vocal reply he received - the rest being in the form of a shimmering grey blade. Its surface pulsing with a transparent red - filling Borg’s view with its approach.
Chapter 37
Purple light flashed, as Sensei swung his long pole-weapon - threatening to cut apart his current foe. Minion number one. Just like most of his recent attacks - he managed to barely graze the pale, lifeless flesh of the target. Miniature cuts visible all across the moving corpse.
Their encounter has been on a stalemate for a while now - serving to only buy time. Sensei couldn’t finish off minion number one and likewise - minion number one couldn’t do any amount of damage to the stereotypical Asian. In a desperate attempt to tip the scales to their favor - Wail tried participating in the fun - while performing his favorite magic trick. Balls of fire slamming against an impregnable purple sphere - shattering upon it like dreams. An uncountable amount of them already present within Wail’s cup of bitter memories. Yet not even a third of the content belonged to the broken fiery projectiles.
A measly amount of hope still lingered of course - as Sensei either failed to notice or just didn’t care about the little portal that opened-up barely a meter away. His back turned towards it. A foolhardy mistake - as a peculiar little critter crawled through it. Taking its sweet time as if on purpose - all to annoy the immature warlock.
Quite the usual look - scrawny, a mane of fabulous black hair. Burning pools of fire instead of eyes. A sharp little nose and a mouth full of fangs.
“God fucking damn it. You just had to summon me when my nails were being done” - It cursed, while turning its fiery gaze towards the nearby source of strife. Just in time as well - because Sensei just so happened to attack the new arrival. His pole weapon trailing off in a swift arc - threatening to cut poor Sorro in half.
But the attack remained no more than just that - a threat, since the little critter ended-up dodging it quite easily. With an uncharacteristically powerful jump - Sorro soared at least three meters to the side. Quite the jumping power. A genuine grasshopper that one.
“Old man, you’ve just messed with the wrong demon. Wail, soul link with me!” - Visibly agitated and caught up in the conflict - the little guy ended up giving orders without the actual authority for it. Which would inevitably end up with him being skewered without any actual support.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” - Within seconds, Wail activated Soul Link - contrary to the reply his irritated tone carried along - “I was already planning on doing so!” - He added, after witnessing the satisfied grin that the little devil displayed. Talk about childish pride.
Instinctively - Sensei decided to focus on the newly arrived, as he completely ignored minion number one and charged towards Sorro. Didn’t demand a lot of sacrifice - seeing as the insignificant undead pest failed to penetrate or even damage the purple sphere.
Prioritizing the disposal of Sorro was indeed quite the keen decision. Futile as it may be - seeing as the little devil was already done charging up his choice of spell.
Sorro extended both of his scrawny hands towards the approaching foe - flames engulfing both in a unified mass of fiery fury. What came next - seemed to shock both Wail and Sensei. Hard to say regarding minion number one - seeing as not only were its facial features mutilated, but it was a possessed corpse. Can’t be enough thought or feeling in there to spare.
As the spell was unleashed - a beam made out of pure molten fire exploded towards the foe, slamming into the purple sphere with unprecedented force. Heck, it even managed to stop the bastard in his tracks, as Sensei was unable to force through towards the little devil. Nor was he able to evade its burning touch - seeing as Sorro managed to follow his every attempt with clairvoyant persistence.
Seconds passed - and the purple sphere was finally showing signs of giving in - visible cracks in its surface emerging here and there. A purple thorn in Wail’s behind was about to be taken care off.
Yet, just before the purple sphere broke and the infernal beam threatened to consume Sensei’s flesh - he managed to perform a spectacular dodging maneuver. Spectacular in the sense, that Sorro was unable to predict it.
Sensei twisted around and leaped to the side - as if hesitant in making a decision on which side served his purpose better. Timing could not have been better - since the leap allowed a safe departure by a hair’s breadth. Fire swirling past a bare centimeter away after breaking through the flashy defense - even scorching the worn robe.
As soon as Sensei performed that close escape - his body flickered, in the usual purple shade. Only to divide into three identical figures - leaping into three different directions, yet every single one - away from the little devil.
“Oh no you don’t” - Displaying an amazing level of control - Sorro managed to cease firing for a few seconds, before turning towards the middle clone and unleashing his fury once more. What he failed - or pretended to fail, to notice - was that Wail stood at the very end of the trajectory - Sensei being in the middle between the two.
What came next might not demand much of an imagination.
Within a fracture of a second - the merciless beam of hell’s fury obliterated Sensei’s clone - only to pass onto a stupefied Wail. Just barely - due to the obviously superior reaction skills
, he managed to avoid the bulk of the attack. Simply bone-shattering was the force behind the little devil’s spell - after scraping Wail’s left side. Heck, it even managed to send poor Wail flying sideways - with a brighter outlook on himself and his surroundings.
Once the spell contact with an unplanned participant - Sorro fell into a fit of coughing, which completely interrupted his fiery rampage. Blood splattered on the smoldering ground beneath the little devil’s feet - as he seemed quite wounded by an unknown cause. So much for the overbearing and completely overpowered force of molten flame.
Wail wasn’t much better off either - as he rolled about the ground like a madman. Playing by the book with the old “stop, drop and roll” maneuver. Screams and curses kept on escaping through the cracks between his clenched teeth - didn’t look like he was too pleased with the unexpected development. Or over the fact that his left side was still on fire. Sure - playing with fire was fun. Only when the other party is the one suffering from its touch, though.
“You fucking did that on purpose, didn’t you?!” - Wail shouted once the fires were finally out, while attempting to stand on unsteady legs. Without delay - he severed the soul-binding connection between himself and that damnable bobble-headed creature. A thin, transparent line visibly shattering into nothingness.
“Well it’s not my fault you don’t watch where you’re standing!” - Sorro replied after being done with all that coughing - wiping away the blood on the corner of his lip with a clawed backhand.
Wail didn’t really pay attention to the disrespectful reply though - seeing as an unexpected guest decided to pay a visit.
Sensei, as a veteran martial artist, did not plan on wasting this sudden and favorable situation - as his two clones jumped Wail at his weakest. Already a bare meter away from the intended target - pole weapons raised high, ready to slice the poor bastard in three.
