by A Uscila
Minion number one to the rescue.
With a feral leap - the faithful servant jumped one of the clones, only to shred through a scattering mist - the target all but gone.
Only one of Sensei remained - no one needed to rack their brains over which figure to attack. Unluckily - none were close enough or able to do so. Wail was too stunned to counterattack - as he could only attempt a desperate back-step. Sorro? Hopefully - out of mana and in the apparent mood to ruin Wail’s day. Since he was just standing around with an innocently surprised stare - not lifting a finger regarding the situation. Amazing how one could display such an expression - seeing as the whole face was covered in a thick mane of hair. Soft, shaggy, magnificent hair. Who knew his place of departure had proper hair-management products?
Purple flashed in a straight, downwards line - slicing through Wail’s attire. Blood spilling on contact - as the skeletal magician fell on his backside. Barely escaping a fatal strike. Luck always was the only redeeming feature the magician carried.
Without delay, Sensei parried minion number one - who was already upon him, with ease - only to resume the attack on Wail. Obviously - this opportunity could not be missed, and Sensei exerted strained effort towards the objective. All that sweat and struggling - only to end so abruptly for naught.
While Sensei was moments away from piercing the stunned magician below - a white light flashed, completely disrupting his attack. It struck his left shoulder - leaving a small red hole and forcing the long-bearded Asian to take a step back. His eyes exploded in surprise - as the sudden attack completely caught him off guard. In addition - at least four more attacks pierced his chest, with four feathery arrow-shafts coming into Sensei’s sight once he lowered his gaze.
Finally - the purple light faded, as the pole weapon disintegrated, scattering into the air like sparks from a fire. Its unnatural glimmer finally extinguished, allowing a brief respite for the eyes of those present. Like a puppet whose strings were cut - Sensei’s lifeless body flattened the grass below with its weight. Scattering strands of it onto the wind. Wail’s undeserved luck did not fail him yet again.
*******
During the whole misunderstanding of an encounter that Wail went through - Borg experienced a not so enjoyable one as well. Since his opponent served as quite the headache.
Sparks illuminated his surroundings - as the ominous grey blade continuously slammed against Borg’s faltering shield. Each hit ringing loudly against the metal edging. Sparks illuminating the two combatants.
As the valiant warrior parried the attackers blows - he instantly counterattacked, the axe descending with a transparent red glee. Each and every attack only to pass by without contact - scraping the flesh at best.
With each passing exchange, the exhibitionist kept on increasing the strength of his attacks - as if every added second was an insult to his disillusioned superior martial prowess. Sweat glistered on his well-defined body - illuminated by the neighboring conflict, the raging fires influencing the pace of their own.
All of a sudden, the half-naked lunatic took an unexpected step back - as if to attempt a restart of their scuffle. To regain the momentum. Without a second of delay - he quickly jumped back towards Borg, threatening to cut him from head to toe with an overhead swing.
Seeing such reckless behavior Borg could only chuckle deep down - he quickly stepped to the side, easily avoiding the overpowering blow. Like a tornado, it flew by the skin of his teeth - only to land on the ground.
Borg was planning to use this opportunity for a counter-attack. Yet the opponents blow was so overpowering that it simply shattered the ground beneath, sending a bucket’s worth of sand and dust to the sides. Staggering back, the shield-bearing warrior covered his eyes with the axe-wielding arm. Blinded - he was reluctant to give up the awaited opportunity - thus he decided to risk it. Even without proper sight, the shield-bearing warrior charged towards the estimated location of the foe - only to slam the before-mentioned shield into him. Borg put his shoulder into the attack, only to feel contact - the attack seemed to be successful.
He opened his eyes, witnessing the pleasant surprise of the staggering foe. With sinister intent, Borg decided to repay the kindness with an over-head blow of his own - axe swinging down towards the lunatics head. A skull-shattering blow moments away from being realized.
Sadly - bold moves were destined to be unrewarded this day. A split-second sidestep and the axe landed on the shoulder-bone, completely failing to even scrape the previously intended target. As a solid hit could be felt - Borg was left dumbfounded to find that the axe failed to break bone. Its edge slamming against it as if it was made out of steel - a feeling of numbness traveling across the weapon wielding arm. A flesh wound being the regrettable result of a perfectly executed counterattack.
Using the opportunity - the previously idle outlaws decided to join in momentarily, six blades slicing and piercing at the back and sides of the valiant contender. Enraged - he pulled back his axe and turned to bring retribution upon these back-stabbing hooligans. Both shield and axe readied to perform the act.
A quick retreat a reply given by the bandits so recently on the offence. Away from any possible injuries or danger. In addition - a black light with a peculiar shine caught the corner of Borg’s eye. With blood-freezing realization he turned back to resume the engagement with his lunatic friend - all too late, sadly.
As Borg turned to parry the incoming attack - time seemed to slow down. His brain performed at maximum speed, adrenalin at its highest - all seemingly futile. With the blade in both hands - the half-naked sexual deviant swung it sideways - a dark shimmering mass covering its length, straw-like strands of red occasionally twitching within. Simply overbearing did the attack seem - moments away from obliterating all defense. Threatening to dislodge the shield-wielding hand with sheer force.
Before any of the illusionary threats could take place - a faint glow suddenly enveloped Borg’s shield, moments away from contact. It continued upwards along the arm - stopping at the shoulder. Unaffected by the sudden change of the obstacles that need to be rammed through - the sexual deviant continued. Be it due to overwhelming confidence, the knowledge of how fatal hesitation might become. Or simply because he didn’t notice the change - regardless, the two clashed. Black and golden entwined - exploding in a violent, even though tiny, clash of fury. Both colors intermixed for the briefest of moments, flashing like a spark of lightning. Yet the victor was clear the moment all of it faded - as the attacker twisted unpleasantly, footing lost due to an unsuccessful strike. Feet shifting unsteadily - a perfect opportunity for Borg to make use off.
As the glow disappeared, after serving to extinguish his counterpart - Borg jumped in with axe raised high. A red light trailing behind as its starving edge - threatening to dig into the exhibitionist’s neck. A fatal hit it would have been - yet a critical point has been obviously forgotten.
Before the attack could have even considered being successful - a mass of blades and pointy ends assaulted Borg from all sides. Capitalizing on the awaited slip up - digging into multiple parts of his body. Stunned by the sudden wave of pain from received damage - Borg could only rely on skill, to avoid a continuation.
He roared once more - an invisible shockwave expanding from his position in frightening speed and force. Every single attacked blown away like leaves by the wind. Except one.
Poor Borg could only gape wide-eyed at the wannabe Connan the Barbarian, who jumped at him in an all-in suicide attack. He held his, once again, shimmering black blade in both hands - raised in a thrusting motion. Threatening to skewer Borg from above. As if he was some easily acquired animal - all to be cooked above a fire.
Without losing his head for longer than a moment or two - the valiant warrior darted to the side, all while raising his shield to parry the incoming attack. Quite the instantaneous reaction - a keen one as well. Except he was dodging right into the jaws of all those outlaws - hungry for some mindless violence.
As if that wasn’t enough - even though Borg did manage to activate that transparent glow of his, it did not seem to work this time.
In a red glint did the barbarian’s eyes shine - as his sword descended right into the side of the escaping shield. Once again the two sides clashed - a flash of convulsing light momentarily blinding both. This time though - something unexpected happened. A loud splintering sound echoed, as the sword simply pierced through both the transparent defense and the shield - pinning it, together with Borg’s hand, to the ground. A sudden, inescapable pull stopped his dodge, as the captured warrior bounced right back from whence he came - the sheer force of the pull threatening to dislodge a shoulder.
In addition - completely stunned - all the warrior could do was give-in to the sudden assault of numerous sharp weapons. All of them descending in a merciless sequence of ups-and-downs.
It was finally over - finished for a fact when the half-naked lunatic decided to deliver an over-head swing just in case. Slicing through tissue, muscle and bone with equal ease - Borg’s gaping head rolling off into the dark. A darkened trail left behind - covering the grass in its sickly color.
*******
Wail irritably wiped the dirt off his robes and picked up the items dropped by Sensei - a girly necklace and some gold coins.
Susana’s tear
Description: There once lived a beautiful maiden - revered and loved by all around, be it within the realm or beyond. She was betrothed to a man of noble blood - their love boundless and eternal. Yet it was not mean to be - as those jealous of their union managed to kill her loved one. Heartbroken she wept for days upon days, mourning the death of her one and only. So powerful was her sorrow that her tears solidified into a bead of pure magical power and were eventually turned into a necklace. May the one wearing it be blessed with the power of love.
Durability: 15/16
Requirements: Level 110
*Adds 50 Intellect
*Adds 25 Wisdom
*Adds 900 Mana
*The bearer of the necklace may find tears running down his cheeks every now and then, -10 Leadership, since no one wants to follow a crybaby.
“What a faggot…” - Wail mumbled under his nose, while stuffing the jewel within his bag. No matter how lame the necklace seemed - it was still worth something.
“That Bob really is giving it his all” - An annoying, piercing voice suddenly echoed right nearby - as Sorro approached Wail’s side - “Must have something to do with his previous death”
At first - Wail only replied with a sidelong glare, as he observed the final moments of the exchange between Borg and the crazed exhibitionist. He occasionally patted his robes with a backhand, swiping away any remaining dust - the tear left after his chest being sliced open all but gone - “I’m not surprised. I doubt he wants to go back to that hellhole of yours. Especially after almost being sexually abused by one of your kind” - He then added, after observing the results of his hard work and snorting in satisfaction.
“It would have been quite the sight. He was twice the size of Bob. Too bad you managed to summon him back by accident during the whole show” - Sorro let out a twisted variation of a sigh, as if mockingly mimicking his magical accomplice.
Wail was not amused - his lips twisting into a frown, a sharp remark close to sound out from within that unpleasant mind of his. Or would have - if not for a few new arrivals who were caught on the very corner of Wail’s vision. A female with a completely lavishing figure - cloaked beneath the usual dark green, a bow slung over the shoulder. She slipped out from the darkness beyond - stepping into reality as if through a gateway. Behind her? A familiar robed individual, accompanied by three rows of well-organized skeletal servitors. Bows held in bony fingers and quivers hanging over their visible ribcages. His dark skin revealed a clear African descent - or would have if not for the sharp-ended long ears. That and Africa didn’t exist within Alternative Reality. Thus, after a much needed correction - both features lead to clear native black Elf descent.
“Took you long enough!” - He barked with a frown at poor little Willow, while ignoring the native black Elf magician.
“The fuck? Some gratitude wouldn’t hurt!” - As if a contagious disease, the irritation seemed to be carried over to Willow, as she shot back sharply.
“Gratitude? After that humiliation of a fight? If you would have ended it before I was about to be sliced open - then I’d consider being thankful. Now? I don’t think so” - Wail turned towards his brother in magic, abruptly ending the heated conversation - without Willow’s consent. What a bastard - “Good job as always. Did any of them survive?” - He asked, with a complete turn of attitude. You’d think that a man would be especially nice towards a beautiful woman - due to certain hidden motives. Yet Wail decided to do so towards the same sex. If his sexual orientation wouldn’t be questioned now, when would it?
“Quite a few. My undead have them surrounded and wetting their pants. Though your side didn’t display any patience like always - killing off a number of them before being cut down” - The Elf’s voice carried a smidge of playful mockery, as he replied - a satisfied grin plastered on his face. Hands held crossed behind his back in a dignified manner.
“Fantastic!” - Wail suddenly turned towards his fellow outlaws and Bob - who was busy inspecting a bag of coins, most likely picked up from the corps of his victim. Completely disregarding the veiled insult to his forces thrown in by the colleague - “Gather everything and send it to the fort! Off to the mines with the survivors!” - He commanded loudly, visibly enjoying his role of superiority. Wail’s ego drank it all in with pleasure - profiting together with his greed. Quite the pleasant day.
Chapter 38
“By orders of the High Sweeper ex, capital ex, ex, Archangel, ex, capital ex, ex - you are sentenced to death by fire, due to the suspicion of heresy!” - Loudly enough to carry across the wide square, a heavily armored man roared. Wearing white metal plates upon cloth of the same color – edges embroidered in green. An armband on his right shoulder - depicting a golden hammer striking white lightning onto green land.
A familiar figure stood right next to the announcer - wincing during every spoken syllable, as his name was said aloud. Quite the agitated mood lingering around his tall, bulky figure. Golden curls seemingly ready to stand up from pure rage - while his clear blue eyes cowered under furrowed brows, all the while glaring at the colleague. Teeth grinding against each other in a desperate attempt to hold back any verbal abuse.
White screaming skulls decorated his shoulders - the peculiar metal polished to an eye piercing sheen. Plates of the same color covered his elbow, forearm and bicep - white cloth with red embroidery sticking out through the gaps. Similarly - his legs were armored in the same fashion - ending with dusty greaves, one foot impatiently tapping the dry earth below. While the sun reflected off the familiar emblem in the middle of his torso.
Bouncing off the surrounding run-down cottages, the announcer’s voice echoed above the heads of many a man and woman - a mass of them gathered in a tight circle around. Surrounded by tightly-knit ranks of people - armed in the same manner as the announcer - the only difference being that every single one was a-horse. Bright rays of the sun illuminated all of the horsed figures - as it reflected off their white metal plates, creating quite the contrast. Such an angelic appearance, yet such cruel words and actions.
Fear lingered in the air - every single surrounded spectator staring wide-eyed towards the middle of the square. A large, charred wooden stake being the target of all those gazes - its base littered with sticks and dried grass, ashes scattered all about the ground. Tied to it stood a tattered fellow - his body slumped and powerless. Long barren of any resistance or hope, chin resting upon the chest motionlessly. A blank stare fixated beneath the feet.
“Any last word?” - The announcer asked, as he lifted a merciless gaze towards the victim, metal screeching from movement as his gauntlets scraped against the side of his full plate armor. A fl
aming torch held in his left hand.
A heavy silence enveloped the area, the observers seemingly too afraid to even breathe aloud. Interrupted by a lone enthusiast who saw this as the perfect opportunity to yell “Burn the witch!” - Even though the victim was obviously of male sex. Regardless - the silence held on, not a single glance or proper reaction to the previously mentioned request.
“Get it over with already. This is the twenty seventh one, I don’t have all day” - xXxArchangelxXx complained, as he leaned towards the colleague - only to snatch away the flaming torch in a hasty motion. Seems like the sweeper was about to begin the festival of flame and agony - before an unforeseen disturbance seemed to hold his hand. Wasn’t the religious enthusiast either.
"Alright, no sudden movements, ladies! This is a robbery! Skirts down and hands where I can see 'em!" - A burly man clothed in banged up leather suddenly shouted - after sliding from around the corner of a beat-up hut, a bunch of similarly looking individuals in toe.
"Good one Jim, I'm glad I tagged along. You always know how to make the job enjoyable" - One of the foremost bandit colleagues spoke up with a cackling laugh - the skinny bastard that he was.
Every single ragged outlaw that suddenly entered the square were in good spirits - joking about and laughing in an unfettered type of laughter. The annoying kind. It didn't last long, as all of it died out after the dolts took in what they stepped into.
“Ah shit, not again” – Jim cursed under his breath, as he covered his face with a dusty palm, the predicament finally clear as day.
xXxArchangelxXx side-glanced towards the unexpected guests, lips twisting into a satisfied sneer. Distracted only for a moment - he quickly resumed his previous intent and threw the torch towards the stake. It landed on the pile of sticks and straw - the fire spreading in frightening speed. As the fires crackled with increasing intensity, the occasional sound of panicked breathing and wailing could be heard from the reinvigorated accused. An occasional crazed cheer and fanatical comment leaving the ranks of the silent mob - which did not seem too bent on joining their coo-coo colleague.
