by Paroxysm on Tue Jun 01, 2010 11:14 pm
A room of dismembered limbs, of bodies spewing putrid blood and of pestilent insects darting in and out of open mouths, jaws shattered through blunt force. A minute earlier, each of these bodies were living remnants of Dachinst’s necromancer acolytes, apprentices to either Zdenek, the Governor, or of some other, already-escaped mage that had gone overlooked in the chaos outside; even despite being away from the action, however, these acolytes were no cowards, they were not hiding in fear of the Drunalan Empire, but, instead, had been assigned a specific task: Protect, at all costs, Zdenek’s anchor, the catalyst used in his summoning by Shenfald.
The fight was short, fierce, but short: the cloaked man was prepared, a casual air about him and a savage intensity in his eyes; his attacks went unseen, even as he sprinted through the necrotic bolts and slew the acolytes, killing them two, sometimes three, at a time, and allowing them to drop where they stood, paying only enough attention to not step in the pools of blood forming around their corpses; and in his hand, he held a journal, his eyes moving down the page, across words written in Cizokian scribbles.
There were many methods in conscripting--binding--a being of power, a demon or some other entity, but most of them followed the same rules and normally those rules involved a contract of mutually beneficial terms, but there were more violent methods that could be used... Enslavement-type methods, even.
Just such a method had been used against the Governor of Dachinst, though circumstances had changed over the years, the contract remained valid, as the mysterious stranger originally thought, or Zdenek wouldn’t have waited idly in his residence while his town was attacked.
Indeed, the center of the room was house to the anchor, a skull, fractured in two places, but in one piece, ultimately. It was neither under glass nor protected by magic; it was a regular skull, sitting on a pedestal and centered within a circle drawn in salt, regularly maintained.
A resounding thud echoed the room as the journal was closed, tucked into the man’s belt, his hand raising, obscured by the large sleeve of his coat, but held in the general direction of the skull.
Sstk.
The rafters fell atop Zdenek quite unexpectedly and their great, clashing sound was accentuated by the thunderous roar that erupted from his throat; the sound, beast-like, would momentarily disorient the Drunalan Empire soldiers, so loud it was, and, maybe, even trigger long forgotten instincts for survival; there was no telling, really. Zdenek had not fallen entirely to the ground, though he was close, his body refused to give, blood dripped down his brow, flowed down his long, toned limbs, but he remained standing, hunched over as he was.
The orient soldier might believe herself having defeated him, he, at least, looked the part, but something would give it away, just at the edge of his face, maybe all that she could see, was the signs of a smile, a grin, even, and his eyes, fierce as they were, were not the eyes of defeat, but of victory:
Zdenek attempted to stand straight, the rafters, still cloaked in flames, did not bother him, the wood groaned, as he stood, and his joints and knees popped; it would be a terrifying sight to the inexperienced, but both Etsu and Circe should have been desensitized to such sights.
“चिन्तनीया हि विपदां आदावेव प्रतिक्रिया ... न कूपखननं युक्तं प्रदीप्ते वन्हिना गृहे!"
His lips moved, slithering words came from his throat, tainted with a dark, crawling energy that would run itself up both soldier’s spines and forcing a near-involuntary shiver.
“It is done, undone, made right, whole, but no longer binding--I am free,” his head swerved around and pivoted, quirking to the side in curiosity as Circe darted around and towards Etsu, willing the wall of flames down with but a moment’s glance, aided, of course, by the fact that she had already weakened them while Etsu prepared her own trick with the rafters.
The bones in Zdenek’s hands and arms popped in anticipation, his hand rolled and flexed, his fingers drew in and out, but he did not seem serious anymore, like the atmosphere had died down entirely; maybe, just maybe this was a moment of respite for the two soldiers.
Or maybe not.
The demon, his skin turning darker and darker as time went on, roared again, like rolling thunder, and threw the wooden rafters off his back, standing straight now, a momentary grimace of pain crossing his features, but eventually returning to the smile, the mocking, insidious smile.
His leg appeared more haunched than before, the curve that led behind his knee was more pronounced, his feet longer, his shoes ripping at the seams, but he showed no signs of discomfort; instead, he planted a foot just onto a piece of debris from the rafters and then, quite suddenly, pushed off into a sprint, kicking up sparks from the burning wood as he did so, and his trajectory was also quite obvious, he was heading straight for the two girls, a dead-charge, where, at point-blank range, he would allow a great inferno to erupt from his throat, a fireball with a cannon’s force to over-take and charbroil the two soldiers, leaving nothing but ash in their wake.
That was the plan at least.
FATAL KERNEL ERROR_
Mind link to COMP disconnected_