by Kindred Ult
Once they were sure that he would not try to escape, they charged. The large one took big, lumbering steps that almost seemed to shake the earth, and held its mace with one hand in front of it, as if it weighed nothing. The small one held both swords close for aerodynamic reasons, and ran quickly, but not as quickly as Demenn had predicted. He chalked this up to letting the big one keep up, and figured that the small one was trying to fool him into thinking that it was slower than it was. Little sputters in its steps gave away its true ability, however, and Demenn was not fooled. Scared, maybe, but not fooled. Once they moved, his switched his sword over to his other hand.
Surprisingly, it was the large one who attacked first. It grasped its mace in both hands and raised it above its head before bellowing and sending it smashing it down at Demenn. Demenn dodged to the side as the mace smashed into the ground, and this time it did shake. He understood then why the big one went first, because then came the small one. From out of the corner of his eye, Demenn saw the slightest movement. Had he not just barely missed seeing even more speed with the first unit captain and Death, he would have missed the movement altogether and died at that moment. Had he not fought against Samael before and seen what pure speed was like, he would not have been able to react fast enough to block and would have died. And had he not realized that the small werepyre was faster than it let on, he would have ignored the movement and died.
As it was, he jumped back the way he had come onto the large one's mace. Just as his feet landed on it, barely missing the many spikes that jutted from it, the normal one appeared where he had been and slashed once at nothing. Seeing that it had missed, it crouched and sprang at him, swinging both swords forward from opposite sides at him. Demenn placed his sword vertical in front of him in a block. When the weapons met, however, Demenn realized that, no matter if it was an exaggerated speed werepyre, it was still stronger than some vampire. One sword hit the very tip of his sword, and the other hit near the hilt, and the strength of each made the sword try to flip out of his hands. The grinding of the sword's handle on his flesh made Demenn grit his teeth, but before the sword was flung out of his hands, he let his entire body go with it. He spun in the air and landed back where he had been before, but not without landing a solid kick to the small one's head while he was in the air.
Even as the normal one fell back, however, the big one gripped its mace and lifted both it and Demenn high off of the ground. At first, Demenn stumbled a bit but wondered what good this would to the big one, and even began planning to jump from the mace to its head. Before he could try it, though, the large one twisted the huge mace with his fingers and wrists, and made Demenn lose his footing and fall to the ground as the better alternative to falling on the spikes. As he fell, the large one lifted its mace into the air with amazing speed that truly did surprise Demenn and then slammed it down. Being in the air, Demenn had no way to dodge the attack, and even thinking of blocking it was absurd.
So instead, he grabbed his sword with both hands and held his arms bent rigidly, exerting all of his strength into his grip. His sword pointed to his side, and the flat edge faced the mace coming down at him. Once the mace was close enough, he shifted his entire body to the side, slamming the flat of his blade against the side of the mace. When the two metals connected, the mace was like a rock in the ground, and did not even budge, but when Demenn gave everything into pushing against it, he did succeed in moving himself, with the mace a lever, out of its way.
Still, even though he was not killed by the attack, the strength behind it was amazing, and he had succeeded only in moving himself a few feet to the side. He hit the ground at about the same time as the mace, and was thrown to the side by the impact it left in the ground. He landed with his knees bent and absorbed the impact, but a flash to the side had him spinning instantly and ducking low while stabbing out with his sword. A sword passed over his head, while another swept low and blocked his own attack. The small one passed by, but before it had moved five feet, it pivoted back around and slashed out again. It had attacked with both swords across, and with one attacking while one blocked, but both were dodged or blocked, but it figured that it knew what had to be done.
Both of its blades swept down, one at the knees, coming first to surprise and cause a reaction, and the second one at the abdomen to catch him when he tried to jump. The swords flashed down toward their respective destinations, but never reached them. The werepyre had been looking down at its targets, and when it looked up, it saw Demenn's hand pointed at it, and too late it discovered what he was doing.
"Fire."
Flames flew from his hand and engulfed the small one, who still swung out with its weapons but, with its eyes closed, Demenn was able to leap over it when it attacked him. As it went running past, Demenn threw out his right hand and grabbed the werepyre by its head. He grimaced at the pain, but felt little more than that. Using the head as a fulcrum, and the werewolf's speed as a break for initial velocity, he spun around it and kicked it in the back with both of its feet. It fell to the ground, writhing and rolling around in an effort to extinguish the flames. Demenn hit the ground just a moment later, and immediately charged the large one.
The big one hefted his mace into the air and grinned. Once Demenn was in range, it swung the mace from one side to the other in a sweeping blow that utilized all of the werepyres' speed and this one's great strength. For all of the speed and power behind it, however, it was predictable, and Demenn swayed back at the last second and the swing passed by him with only inches to spare. As soon as it was past, he charged once again. Not to be stopped, it raised its mace above its head and slammed it down, but Demenn had predicted this as well, and jumped to the side before running forward again.
The large one kept smashing its mace up and down in a frenzied barrage, it picked up and threw down its mace at a frenetic pace, without ever slowing or showing any sign of fatigue, but each time it attacked, Demenn would dodge to the left or the right. He gained only a few feet each time he dodged, but he always moved forward without fail. Eventually, the werepyre began swinging his mace from side to side as well as up and down, but even then Demenn simply vaulted over the attack and kept moving forward. For all of its speed and strength, the werepyre could not break out of the mold of attacks it had placed itself in. It had only needed to attack in these ways before, and now that they did not work, it could do nothing save attack again and again in the hope that one of its attacks hit it target.
None of them did, though, and eventually it began to feel rage, and also fear, as Demenn got closer. Having only learned that rage makes one stronger, and only having learned to fix problems by trying harder, it raised its mace above its head one last time, using both hands and bringing it back farther than it had ever before. It was intent on a killing blow. Unfortunately, in its zeal, it kept its weapon back just a second too long, and Demenn, having seen through this fighter, had been waiting for this exact moment. He cocked his legs in and launched himself through the air straight at the werepyre's left arm. When he reached it, he swung out with his sword in both hands, and felt it slice its way through the flesh and bone before coming out the other side.
The arm fell off at the shoulder, and the werepyre was suddenly stuck with only having half of its strength to wield its giant mace. Had the mace been in front of it, the large one could have kept it, but it was too far behind its back, too extended. The mace plummeted to the ground, taking the werepyre's arm with it and breaking its shoulder. Without any other recourse, the werepyre gave out one last bellow. It yelled out its warrior pride and frustration one last time before Demenn ran at it and plunged his sword into its chest. The rot hit its heart, and when he pulled out his sword, it fell to the ground.
Having a breath for just a moment, Demenn looked around too see how his comrades were faring. They were doing well, but not good enough. Most were fighting losing battles, and several were dead already. The one who caught his attention immediately was Valdivai, though. From the bo
dies around her, it seemed that she had killed a strength werepyre, then a speed one, but now she was struggling with another speed one who was fresh to the fight. It was bouncing around her, harrying her from every point it could, stopping her from resting or finding sustenance from the hearts of the two werepyres she had already killed. She was fighting back admirably, and it was bleeding more than she, but she was slowing, and it was sensing her weakness.
Then, from behind her, a strength werepyre, not one of the guards, but one of the normal werepyres who had noticed what was going on and had decided to come back, charged her, bellowing. She was caught between guarding against the strength werepyre and protecting herself from the speed werepyre, and eventually chose the strength one. From his view, though, Demenn could see the danger she was in, and he immediately began sprinting toward her to help her. His way was blocked, however, by the small werepyre, its fur crisping and blackened from the fire, and its chest heaving in rage. He tried to dodge past it, because the speed werepyre attacking Valdivai was waiting for the strength one to reach her so that it could strike, but the small one was right there, swinging its swords with abandon and forcing him back.
The large one was there, and Valdivai swung to the side as its claws flashed past her, and Demenn watched in horror as the speed one made its move. He tried one last time to get around the small werepyre, but it blocked him once again. In the end, all he could do was shout her name. He yelled as loud as he could and she, hearing him, spun around just barely in time. Her spiked club shot out with all of her Other form speed, and impaled itself into the neck of the speed werepyre. For a moment she smiled, but then she noticed the werepyre's arm stuck through her chest from left back shoulder bone to right collar bone.
She grimaced, but then screamed, pulled her scythe-club from the werepyre's neck and struck it again. She forced it to the ground and stabbed countless times into its body, even with its arm still stuck through her chest. In moments, the werepyre was a bloody mess, and Valdivai pulled its arm out of her chest. Blood spurt from her, but she was still able to barely begin sawing out the werepyre's heart. Her movements were jagged, and she forced each slice as if it were all she had to do in the world. When she was satisfied, she took a breath to calm herself and then plunged her hand into the werepyre's chest. Her hand came out in a moment, and with it was the heart of a werepyre.
A smile crossed her tired face, but it was more of resignation than hope, because she saw the looming shadow over her. Slowly, her body changed from its Other to her normal one. As it should have been, her wounds did not transfer from one form to the other, but the blood was already lost, and could not be regained that quickly. Her hands began shaking and trembling from the blood loss, and the heart fell from her clutches. She turned around slowly, to see the huge werepyre behind her smile.
"Always wondered what a captain would taste like." It bent down and held her face in its claws. Looking at her. She stared back at it for a moment, but then shifted her eyes to the side, to look at Demenn. He was battling a blackened werepyre while still looking at her every other moment, and it was obvious that he was trying to fight so that he could break and get to her. She gave the closest thing a three-quarters dead, defeated, blood-deprived vampire could to a chuckle, and when he looked over one last time, he saw her staring back at him smiling. For just a moment longer, before the werepyre holding her opened its jaws and crushed her head between its teeth.
It tore away flesh from her body, then took a huge bite out of her torso, continuing until it had completely devoured every bit of her, leaving only her spiked clubs on the ground, soaked in blood from her body and those of the werepyres she had slain alone. Only two saw her end, and only one mourned her. Demenn slashed out at the small werepyre who still battled him. It was his first attack since he had seen her, and it surprised the small one enough for it to jump back. He cast one look at the puddle of blood that had once been Valdivai, and for some reason he could not comprehend, he suddenly felt sorrow and rage flow over him. He pointed his sword at the small one, and it glowed in response to his emotions. Vibrantly matching his fury in golden hues.
The small werepyre giggled. It was at that moment that Demenn realized for the first time that it was a female. When it spoke, its voice sung out and floated toward him.
"Well, it seems as if you have lost someone relatively important to you. Well, don't think that makes us even remotely even, Demenn."
Her eyes flashed, and she was on the attack before Demenn could question her. He found himself moving backward and fending off attacks for his life.
* * *
Varus, on the other hand, was slightly surprised at the caliber of the opponents he was facing. He was on his fifth or sixth—he could not remember—and had thought that they would be as powerful as, or maybe a bit stronger than Demetrius had been. As it turns out, Dimitrious was quite a bit weaker than these were. However, his prescient abilities far outweighed his weaknesses, and it was that ability which made all of the difference for Varus. All of these warriors, who were greater than he in every way, were falling one after the other with little to no effort on his part.
Whichever number his latest was, it was fighting with a spear. It was a speed werepyre, and was just slightly larger than Varus in his Other form. Its spear looked vicious, and every time it stabbed out it was like a flash of light rather than an actual attack. Unfortunately, for all of its mind-blowing speed, it could not land a single attack on its opponent. Varus dodged just barely every time the spear came out, many times moving before the werepyre had even fully committed to the attack, and he even caught all of the feints and pseudo-attacks that it resorted to when nothing else worked. It thought that he was only able to dodge its attacks at the last second, and so was not able to attack back, but in reality he was testing his abilities. Every opponent he fought had used a different fighting style, and each intrigued him.
He always kept the failings of Dimitrious in his mind, and was resolved to not let that happen to him. So every time he used extreme caution, and even though he had at least four or five chances to end this particular fight, he had waited just to prolong it. Unfortunately for the werepyre, however, it was beginning to become caught in repetitions of the same moves, at which point Varus became bored. When they stopped doing anything new, he was done with them.
'Three stabs. Stomach, heart, head.' Varus called out in his mind.
Sure enough, the werepyre lunged forward and jabbed out thrice. Even as his arms flexed before shooting out the first time, Varus walking forward while shifting his body to the side. He took another step closer and shifted to the other side, allowing the second strike to pass by as well, and finally stood right next to the werepyre and cocked his head to the side to dodge the last. He reached his hand up and grabbed the shaft of the spear, and let go as soon as he knew the werepyre would reflexively pull it back. The werepyre appeared to stumble back and lost its balance, but Varus knew that it was baiting him, so he lunged forward just like it wanted.
'Fake a slash from the left, spin right and sweep legs, and then...Oh, well by then he'll be dead.'
Varus pretended to fall to the fake just as for the bait, but when the werepyre spun, he lightly jumped over the sweep, then lunged forward and stuck his knife into the back it had just presented him. It froze, and he used that time to jerk out the knife before punching his hand into the chest. The holy water on the blade retarded the healing process just enough, and when he brought his hand back, it held the heart of the werepyre, who was already falling.
He held the heart in his hand, looking at the bloody mess of tubes and sacks, and was about to eat it before realizing that he did not need it. It would barely add to his power, and he had not been injured to warrant healing. He thought that the gains of raising the heart to his mouth and eating it were not worth it. As he opened his hand and let the heart hit the ground, it hit him with shocking clarity that he was more powerful than even werepyres now. He was the superior being. He tur
ned around to see what else was transpiring in the battle.
"Next!"
* * *
In almost complete contrast, Brand was still locked in struggle with his second opponent. By now he had passed his astonishment at the pure brute strength of the werepyre and had now gone to wondering how he was still contesting it in strength. They were still locked in the same position they had started in, with both hands clasped and bodies clenched in an effort to overpower the other. Neither of them moved, and even though it was night, sweat beaded down their fur. Almost every moment, Brand thought that he would be overpowered, but then he would receive a burst of energy and would fight on.
'How am I doing this?' He thought to himself. 'When I grappled with the Queen, she was far stronger than I, and this one is more powerful as well. I could feel that from the first moment we met, so why has he not pushed me back. I had counted on losing the contest of strength and continuing on from there, but somehow I keep on pushing against him, as if my power were not my own. It's almost as if...' His thoughts broke off, and for a moment he let go of his eyes. When the world changed over, his thoughts were confirmed. A line of red and orange ran through the melee and back out to where he had designated his minotaurs to take camp away from the fighting.
