Frost 12th, 4622
Ages passed in the calm quiet of the battle's aftermath.
Arkash, trapped beneath the weight of the giant Strigoi, quietly fed on the vile discharge of its wounds in his entrapment.
The beast, built with the work of Necromancy, was designed for war. Crushed beneath it, Arkash became intimately familiar with the dense muscle that mobilized its form, the inch-thick plate armor that layered and keeled itself for mobility and protection. It was a juggernaut; a construct of immense strength built with the intent to kill by the dozens.
And Arkash fed from its flesh.
His bones were broken, he recognized. Searing pain coursed through his limbs, deafening numbness in his leg.
In time, his metabolism broke down the flesh he consumed and worked to repair the damage to his form, far faster than any mortal could recover.
All the while, the Strigoi laid dormant, still, breathless.
Even when Arkash had recovered enough to lift the creature's body from his fractured form, even when he pried his twisted feet from under the beast, and even when he dropped it to the floor in his haste to escape its hold, the beast remained dormant.
Dust and dirt kicked up on impact, clotting the air Arkash breathed.
A shaky balled fist caught the coughs as they broke his gore-spattered lips, and he breathed a groan of anguish as his abdomen stung.
Every moment, every movement, everything stung, ached, and burned.
He sat there in the dark, clenching his stomach through teary eyes as he gradually healed.
When at last the pain receded, the Rath rolled over and crawled to the nearest wall, where he shakily climbed to his feet with its assistance.
A hiss of pain broke his despairing visage when he tried to return his weight to his left leg, only to find the foot at the end of it bent out of position, broken at the ankle.
"Fuck..." he cursed, and his arms trembled while he held himself up.
A moment or two longer was spent there, just staring at the disfiguration of his body. His heart quickened in tandem with his breath as he steeled his resolve.
With his back to the wall, he reached down and lifted his injured leg into his lap. One claw on his calf, the other on his foot, he breathed a shaky sigh, pressed his jaw hard, curled his nose, and growled as he pulled his foot and snapped it back into place. It was difficult to tell whether or not his ankle was aligned beneath the horrific swelling of the joint; he had to base his judgment on the feel, and that sense was utterly blinded by white-hot agony.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as venom poured from his lips. A constrained, pained snarl rumbled in the back of his throat as his joint popped and clicked in response to his forceful correction.
Minutes passed with Arkash holding his body in place while his Dranoch blood repaired the damage, and before long the swelling had reduced enough for Arkash to tell that he hadn't aligned his foot correctly.
It was tilted to the left, heavier on his warped ankle than the heel. He would need to operate on himself when he had his necromancy kit, he resolved as he let his foot down and tested its strength.
The pain had largely subsided, but his balance was off; he wouldn't be running anywhere until he fixed the disfiguration.
Groggy, he held his head with one hand and dragged his forked tongue across his muzzle to scoop some of the Strigoi's lifeblood into his mouth.
Shining eyes scoured the dark of the cavern before they settled on the device he sought; a handheld gun, not unlike the tool Arkash used for injecting Sinew Foam, of metallic gold with a clear vial of crystalline fluid where the firing chamber should have been. It was a tool he recognized from Raphael's tomes, and from what he could understand of the scripture, it was exceedingly rare.
A deep sigh left his lips as he pushed away from the wall and began his long limp toward the worktop it was left on.
Around the Strigoi he wobbled, one step at a time with a forward lean and claws ready to catch himself if he fell.
Both hands fell to the table when he arrived, and the shaking of his breath returned as he rested his injured leg a moment.
Atop the worktop were the remains of... Something. The bones appeared human in shape, but they'd aged so long it was difficult to tell.
Besides the remains was the golden gun he sought and an instinct capturer; a tool Arkash was familiar with. His brow furrowed as he examined the equipment, but softened when he stowed the thought for another time.
Carefully, he collected the discarded tool and pulled to snap the silken webs that bound it to the table.
He turned to rest his tail against the table edge as he pocketed the device, and looked up in time to find the Strigoi stirring from its rest.
Arkash's heart stopped at the recognition of that chilling, grinding squeak of chitin.
His heart began to beat faster and faster, yet he watched the beast he'd killed stir, mind racing like a desert chariot as he tried to formulate a plan.
The undead shrieked, the roar of warping metal jagged and broken by the blades that pierced its neck.
Arkash trembled, venom pooled in his maw and spilled from his lips as his claws set alight.
As a strand of his body's inherent defense mechanism hit the floor, the Strigoi's roar stopped, and it choppily turned to face him.
Arkash was unarmed, utterly defenseless before the war machine.
His needle eyes drank all the details of the beast in its wounded form, then darted to his rifle across the floor.
It was his only option.
Quickly, he summoned all the strength he could muster with his injured arm and hurled the instinct capturer at the Strigoi. In the same turning motion, he made a break for the gun.
The device impacted the plate armor of the Strigoi, far from the Rath's mark, and fell to the floor without leaving so much as a dent.
Jagged and off-center, the beast ran over its own coils as it dove at Arkash with all its dozens of bladed legs.
Panicked limping became manic as the beast charged him, and any will to preserve his injured foot was cast aside when the reality of his impending demise set in.
Arkash dove as soon as he was within reach, snatched the rifle with his tremoring claws, and turned to aim at the Strigoi from the floor.
It was upon him, mere feet from the collision as Arkash turned the dial and pulled the trigger. Flecks of electrified shrapnel burst from the barrel and shattered a piece of the beast's previously indestructible armor. The force of the blast pushed Arkash a little further back and sent the creature reeling.
Sky-stealer's cooldown initiated as indicated by a raised flag, which Arkash manually bypassed and armed for a second round.
The Strigoi dove at him a second time, and Arkash pulled the trigger. Again, the weapon's internal Arcanacrag core struck the loaded bullet, shattered it, and launched it from the barrel in the second burst of lightning-propelled shrapnel that destroyed another part of the beast.
It wasn't nearly enough, as the Strigoi quickly recovered. The weapon rattled of its own accord in his hand, the brass casing superheated in his grasp as the cooldown flag once again shot up, only to be bypassed a third time as Arkash prepared to fire... Too slow.
The Strigoi had caught up to him, its jaws had dived on him with its head poised to crush him on impact. The length of his rifle arm reached down its throat in that split second that Arkash faced imminent death. Without so much as a second to think, Arkash pulled the trigger as the beast bit down on his arm.
Too quickly, agony erupted at the site of the bite and came chased by overwhelming phantom numbness.
The hull of the creature's head ruptured at the force of the explosion caused by the unstable Arcanacrag of Sky Stealer's core. Chunks of shell, followed by clumps of pale bug meat and gore flew in all directions. A storm of raw lightning followed just an instance after the rupture, scorching various surfaces and fleshes with its incredible heat. Its light fully illuminated the cavern and deafened the Rath with its boom.
Finally, the force of the blast struck Arkash with enough weight to completely flatten him and threw his head against the ground in the turbulent explosion.
In an instant, all the chaos was swallowed by darkness and Arkash laid still, unconscious.
Ages passed in the calm quiet of the battle's aftermath.
Arkash, trapped beneath the weight of the giant Strigoi, quietly fed on the vile discharge of its wounds in his entrapment.
The beast, built with the work of Necromancy, was designed for war. Crushed beneath it, Arkash became intimately familiar with the dense muscle that mobilized its form, the inch-thick plate armor that layered and keeled itself for mobility and protection. It was a juggernaut; a construct of immense strength built with the intent to kill by the dozens.
And Arkash fed from its flesh.
His bones were broken, he recognized. Searing pain coursed through his limbs, deafening numbness in his leg.
In time, his metabolism broke down the flesh he consumed and worked to repair the damage to his form, far faster than any mortal could recover.
All the while, the Strigoi laid dormant, still, breathless.
Even when Arkash had recovered enough to lift the creature's body from his fractured form, even when he pried his twisted feet from under the beast, and even when he dropped it to the floor in his haste to escape its hold, the beast remained dormant.
Dust and dirt kicked up on impact, clotting the air Arkash breathed.
A shaky balled fist caught the coughs as they broke his gore-spattered lips, and he breathed a groan of anguish as his abdomen stung.
Every moment, every movement, everything stung, ached, and burned.
He sat there in the dark, clenching his stomach through teary eyes as he gradually healed.
When at last the pain receded, the Rath rolled over and crawled to the nearest wall, where he shakily climbed to his feet with its assistance.
A hiss of pain broke his despairing visage when he tried to return his weight to his left leg, only to find the foot at the end of it bent out of position, broken at the ankle.
"Fuck..." he cursed, and his arms trembled while he held himself up.
A moment or two longer was spent there, just staring at the disfiguration of his body. His heart quickened in tandem with his breath as he steeled his resolve.
With his back to the wall, he reached down and lifted his injured leg into his lap. One claw on his calf, the other on his foot, he breathed a shaky sigh, pressed his jaw hard, curled his nose, and growled as he pulled his foot and snapped it back into place. It was difficult to tell whether or not his ankle was aligned beneath the horrific swelling of the joint; he had to base his judgment on the feel, and that sense was utterly blinded by white-hot agony.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as venom poured from his lips. A constrained, pained snarl rumbled in the back of his throat as his joint popped and clicked in response to his forceful correction.
Minutes passed with Arkash holding his body in place while his Dranoch blood repaired the damage, and before long the swelling had reduced enough for Arkash to tell that he hadn't aligned his foot correctly.
It was tilted to the left, heavier on his warped ankle than the heel. He would need to operate on himself when he had his necromancy kit, he resolved as he let his foot down and tested its strength.
The pain had largely subsided, but his balance was off; he wouldn't be running anywhere until he fixed the disfiguration.
Groggy, he held his head with one hand and dragged his forked tongue across his muzzle to scoop some of the Strigoi's lifeblood into his mouth.
Shining eyes scoured the dark of the cavern before they settled on the device he sought; a handheld gun, not unlike the tool Arkash used for injecting Sinew Foam, of metallic gold with a clear vial of crystalline fluid where the firing chamber should have been. It was a tool he recognized from Raphael's tomes, and from what he could understand of the scripture, it was exceedingly rare.
A deep sigh left his lips as he pushed away from the wall and began his long limp toward the worktop it was left on.
Around the Strigoi he wobbled, one step at a time with a forward lean and claws ready to catch himself if he fell.
Both hands fell to the table when he arrived, and the shaking of his breath returned as he rested his injured leg a moment.
Atop the worktop were the remains of... Something. The bones appeared human in shape, but they'd aged so long it was difficult to tell.
Besides the remains was the golden gun he sought and an instinct capturer; a tool Arkash was familiar with. His brow furrowed as he examined the equipment, but softened when he stowed the thought for another time.
Carefully, he collected the discarded tool and pulled to snap the silken webs that bound it to the table.
He turned to rest his tail against the table edge as he pocketed the device, and looked up in time to find the Strigoi stirring from its rest.
Arkash's heart stopped at the recognition of that chilling, grinding squeak of chitin.
His heart began to beat faster and faster, yet he watched the beast he'd killed stir, mind racing like a desert chariot as he tried to formulate a plan.
The undead shrieked, the roar of warping metal jagged and broken by the blades that pierced its neck.
Arkash trembled, venom pooled in his maw and spilled from his lips as his claws set alight.
As a strand of his body's inherent defense mechanism hit the floor, the Strigoi's roar stopped, and it choppily turned to face him.
Arkash was unarmed, utterly defenseless before the war machine.
His needle eyes drank all the details of the beast in its wounded form, then darted to his rifle across the floor.
It was his only option.
Quickly, he summoned all the strength he could muster with his injured arm and hurled the instinct capturer at the Strigoi. In the same turning motion, he made a break for the gun.
The device impacted the plate armor of the Strigoi, far from the Rath's mark, and fell to the floor without leaving so much as a dent.
Jagged and off-center, the beast ran over its own coils as it dove at Arkash with all its dozens of bladed legs.
Panicked limping became manic as the beast charged him, and any will to preserve his injured foot was cast aside when the reality of his impending demise set in.
Arkash dove as soon as he was within reach, snatched the rifle with his tremoring claws, and turned to aim at the Strigoi from the floor.
It was upon him, mere feet from the collision as Arkash turned the dial and pulled the trigger. Flecks of electrified shrapnel burst from the barrel and shattered a piece of the beast's previously indestructible armor. The force of the blast pushed Arkash a little further back and sent the creature reeling.
Sky-stealer's cooldown initiated as indicated by a raised flag, which Arkash manually bypassed and armed for a second round.
The Strigoi dove at him a second time, and Arkash pulled the trigger. Again, the weapon's internal Arcanacrag core struck the loaded bullet, shattered it, and launched it from the barrel in the second burst of lightning-propelled shrapnel that destroyed another part of the beast.
It wasn't nearly enough, as the Strigoi quickly recovered. The weapon rattled of its own accord in his hand, the brass casing superheated in his grasp as the cooldown flag once again shot up, only to be bypassed a third time as Arkash prepared to fire... Too slow.
The Strigoi had caught up to him, its jaws had dived on him with its head poised to crush him on impact. The length of his rifle arm reached down its throat in that split second that Arkash faced imminent death. Without so much as a second to think, Arkash pulled the trigger as the beast bit down on his arm.
Too quickly, agony erupted at the site of the bite and came chased by overwhelming phantom numbness.
The hull of the creature's head ruptured at the force of the explosion caused by the unstable Arcanacrag of Sky Stealer's core. Chunks of shell, followed by clumps of pale bug meat and gore flew in all directions. A storm of raw lightning followed just an instance after the rupture, scorching various surfaces and fleshes with its incredible heat. Its light fully illuminated the cavern and deafened the Rath with its boom.
Finally, the force of the blast struck Arkash with enough weight to completely flatten him and threw his head against the ground in the turbulent explosion.
In an instant, all the chaos was swallowed by darkness and Arkash laid still, unconscious.
Image source.
