85th of Ash, 4621
“WHAT?!” The Rathor called at the top of his lungs once the order left the Veir’s lips. No time to think, Arkash curled the bridge of his nose to bare his teeth as he kicked off the ground in an explosive leap. Narrowly, the cleave of the Halamire’s polearm missed his chest. Arkash’s eyes darted from one Knight to the other as the hulking male rushed toward him. Again, the Rathor leaped aside and rolled across the cracked earth to evade. Another came from above, swinging their heavy blade in an attempt to rend him down the middle. Arkash tucked his chin as he pushed forward, and dove between the knight’s widened stance before he rolled onto his feet and drew his sword at the hip. The steel sheath only weighed him down, so he abandoned it with a flick of his wrist, severing the tie.
The rushing beat of a heart to his flank thudded loud in his ears, and Arkash spun on his heels to quickly get a look at his attacker’s trajectory, then ducked to evade the swipe of their axe, and spun on the floor with his sword extended. And cut out their knees in a single slash. Plate armor gave way to the sharpness of his blade and inhuman attributes. The knight fell over him, still carrying momentum from the charge. A burst of force from his legs saw him leap out of the way of the giant’s fall, far too quick to end up caught under the mortal's wounded body. Three remained able to fight, he focused his gaze upon them over the panicked cries of the legless Halamire.
His glance briefly fell on the Noble who stood with his hands folded behind his back, grinning cruelly. That was all the time it took for one of the three to close the gap with him and throw their weapon in an attempt to cleave through his neck. Arkash ducked, widened his stance with a back step, and prepared to run the man’s chest through with a thrust of his sword, but a second Knight came upon him too quickly and made an attempt for his arm. Arkash snarled, then leaped to evade the strike, only to land in the way of the third, who rushed at him in a collision course. Arkash’s eyes widened at his misstep, but it was too short notice, he was bat to the floor by the flat of the knight’s axe, dazed in part as he bounced across the arid ground.
In time to evade the Halamire’s next strike, Arkash drew a deep breath through his nose, then swiftly rolled to the side. Both palms pressed to the ground quickly, and he threw himself to his feet, poised to strike… Except his hand was empty, his sword was gone. Arkash blinked at the revelation, then sniffled as blood trickled from his nose. As his dazed eyes darted about the land, he found his blade... in the metal-wrapped hand of one of the Knights. Arkash curled his lip in a frustrated hiss. He didn’t remember letting go of the pommel, but it was in their possession now. The knight knew the strength of that blade too, it sang of its own sharpness as he weighed it in his hands, humming on the breeze. “Nice sword,” the brute called, hefting it to his shoulder. “I might keep it once I’ve severed your head.”
“It’s mine…” Arkash growled, then bit into his own arm and ripped through his wrist with a pull of his serrated teeth. The darkened, maroon spatter quickly hardened into the shape he willed, forging another blade of equal strength, sharpened again with Arkash’s suffusion. His wrist bled shallowly but quickly hardened under the effect of his sway, blocking the wound.
“Vandikar!” One of the men cried. His magic was recognized.
“The evil magic?!” Called another.
“My Veir! You must take action!” Called the one who carried Arkash’s blade in a manner, not unlike a player calling for the referee.
“I beg your pardon?” Asked the noble. “Why should I take action, hm?” He spoke with a leer, leaning toward them with something of a playful flex to his brow.
The knight seemed to stare, wild with confusion and anger. “He’s a Vandikar! The Rathor is a blood mage!” He called, begging sense. “For Ulen, you must help us strike this abomination dead!”
“Well, that would be counter-productive. Why would I go through the hassle of feeding you lot to my favorite Rathor if I was just going to kill him?” He spoke with the beginnings of a lazy smile. Arkash watched those eyes, and how his gaze radiated malice.
The knight’s confusion met its apex then, and he looked between the Rathor and the noble before raising his blade to the Veir, choosing his battles wisely. “You speak in support of this demon, and would sacrifice your own countrymen to build its strength?!” Roared the Knight, brimming with rage.
“…Did I mention that he’s also a Dranoch?” Added Raphael as he straightened up and brought his hands to rest folded before him.
A burst of force followed as the Knight broke into a charge like a tensed coil, raising Arkash’s sword overhead, screaming in some tongue that Arkash did not understand. That didn’t matter, though. Arkash couldn’t let Raphael fall, and he was beginning to understand what was going on.
Before the Halamire could make contact, Arkash intercepted and cut through the man’s arm in a swift swipe of his blade, armor and all. In the same motion, he cast Razor, and produced a hardened blade of the man’s own blood directly where his stump was, sharpened it with Suffusion, and hurtled it through the other arm at intense speeds. In one strike, Arkash had severed both the knight's arms. Before the limb could hit the ground, Arkash snatched his sword back with his free claw, spun, then drove both the points of his blades into the Halamire’s chest and stomach, running him through completely. As he pulled the swords from the trunk of his victim, the man fell to his knees, gurgling and sputtering as his lungs filled with his own lifeforce.
The pull-out put him to spin, ending up with his face to the two knights that remained. They hesitated, staring down the monster Arkash was revealed to be. Conflict waged in their eyes, a battle between duty and instinct, both on opposing sides. Arkash grinned at that look, for the battle was for naught. Whichever they chose, they weren’t walking away from the encounter. A flick of his wrists shook free the knight’s severed hand from the pommel of his sword and flung a line of spattered blood in the dried earth. Poised full of confidence, he began to walk toward the two. They remained frozen, uncertain of their fate whichever path they chose...
Minutes later, when they were broken things on the ground, Arkash approached the trail the legless one left behind, stepping over the pieces of broken weapons that lay scattered across his path. The man was still wailing through his efforts to escape, all in vain. Without pause, Arkash seized the knight’s helm and put his full body back to rip up from the visor. The helm remained in place as he lifted the human from the ground, navigated his other arm around his blade, and brought the edge to the knight’s throat. He took a deep breath through his nose, then exhaled as he ripped the blade across, and split his jugular. He cast Sacrifice on his inhibited opponent, drinking the ether from their veins in a wild burst of blight; that crude imitation of blood that served to power his mark.
The overflowing power circled him in a vicious storm of red, ready for use at a moment’s notice. That feeling, while caught in his own blight storm, the feeling of unmatched power at his fingertips, the command of blood and ether in his grasp, all drawn from the blades that he wielded like extensions of his body… It was plain to see why Vandikar became addicted to the sensation, to trip over their own power. Arkash had tasted it, and it was oh-so moreish.
Raphael began to clap while Arkash stood there, encircled with blight. The Rath's eyes dragged along the scene to the man, the one who'd initiated the fight, to begin with. "Really?" Arkash asked. He was only a little annoyed, but not for the fight. "You couldn't have given me a warning?"
Raphael grinned, staying his hands. "I told you, that would defeat the purpose of a surprise," he declared, then stepped aside to allow the Rath plenty of room. "So... Tier four has four abilities. There is a construct, a beam, a bomb, and the last resort... We'll try and learn them all today, but let's try that last one last... From what I've studied, it's utterly devastating. Both you and your surroundings will be in very poor shape afterward," Raphael explained with a turn of his gloved hand, then lifted his mask once more to conceal his features.
Arkash supposed he could forgive the mage for his tricks. It wasn't hard to overcome the Halamire, not with his superior skill. Besides, who else was going to teach him how to use his abilities? He assumed the position directed of him, stood over one of the broken knights.
"Now... You're going to use a mixture of bloodshaping and sway to direct a funnel of blood outward. Use both hands to steer it as it can get a bit... Well, hard to control," The man directed. Arkash furrowed his brow, then looked to both his claws. "...And remember, if you're pushing too hard, you're probably not strong enough to use it yet. Just let it go if you feel the strain."
A nod of his head affirmed that he understood what Raphael was saying. How hard could it be? He was surrounded by blight. He felt strong enough to wipe out an army, what was a funnel of blood in comparison to his power?
Channeling the etheric storm of blight that surrounded him, Arkash cast sway on the blood, and with a widened stance, drew it to wrap around his left arm. Like a stream, it began to pour toward his claws. The concentration it took to maintain the formation was immense, but the moment it passed the threshold of his wrist, it was like he'd overcome the incline of a hill, and the ball began to accelerate downhill, out of his control. A massive blast of red ripped through the air before him and startled him with its weight. Arkash bared his teeth with wide eyes. His arms shook while he tried to steer the fountain of blood, engaged his back to pull it, and slowly pulled it toward the two bound Druskai.
They began to fall away as chunks of their bodies were utterly destroyed under the pressure. Muffled screaming ensued as the Druskai tried to desperately pull free of their binds but to no avail. Gradually, they were consumed from the waist up by the blast. The rip and crunch of the Druskai's bone accompanied the destruction of the wooden post they were tied to. The muffled screaming was utterly drowned by the torrent of blood, that seemed to flow endlessly from his palms.
The wooden beam eventually snapped off with brutish force, dropping to the ground with an impact that seemed to startle the other Druskai captives. The blood continued to flow, hurtling over the trunkless bodies of the broken Druskai... How did he stop it? Uncertain, he brought his wrists together to try and cut off the floor, and all the force was transferred to him in an instant. He was knocked clean off his feet and tumbled to the floor, skidding for a few good yards. Most f his blight was gone, only some of it remained. No matter.
Using sway, Arkash absorbed the blood of all the corpses within a hundred feet of him and restored his blighted storm of auxiliary power. He noticed, as he began to stand, that his arm was sore around where the stream had funneled. A flex of his claws and a clench of his fist confirmed that it wasn't broken, but it might certainly bruise. "...How was that?" Arkash asked as he lifted his gaze to the mage, and lowered his claws.
Raphael didn't look all too impressed. A wobble of his head and a tilt of his hand affirmed so. "...It was alright, you definitely need more practice, though."
Arkash agreed; he had very little control over that thing. He needed to better tame that power.
"Your acidity wasn't nearly as strong as I was expecting, either. It looked as though most of your damage came from the pressure of the Blood Torrent, rather than the main feature. isn't that strange?" The mage speculated, scratching his chin under his mask.
Arkash looked across the wasteland, past the post of two tied Druskai to the one that taught him. "...Should I try again?" he offered. "I'm more ready this time... And maybe I can make it sharp instead?"
Raphael thought for a moment, hummed, then shrugged. "Sure. if you need more Blight, you can always just sacrifice one of the elves," he spoke indifferently, then stepped aside as Arkash prepared to fire a second torrent.
