by Kindred Ult
'I'm no one's victim.'
she turned and faced Rhave, who had stopped walking and was crouched, and placed her spear out horizontally in front of her. She had expected him to attack, but even she was surprised when he leapt high into the air and landed on top of her. Thankfully, her spear was what saved her from an immediate death, as it lodged between the jaws of the wolf and kept its teeth away from her even as its immense weight bore her to the ground. This only stopped it for a moment, though, as it simply brought its head back a bit, which put the wooden shaft between its teeth, and snapped it in two like a dry twig.
Even as it did that, though, she dropped the back end of the spear and placed her open palm of its collarbone while yelling "Fire!"
A blazing inferno blew from her palm and billowed over the creature like a flamethrower. The sheer initial power of the spell blasted Rhave back a bit, and Nasoren was able to back out from under him until she stood a few feet away from him, still blowing flames all over him. She felt the spell begin to end, so she dropped the front end of her spear as well and just as the flame from her palm ended, she placed both of her palms together and repeated the spell. This time the flames erupted from both of her hands, and Rhave thrashed and screamed in pain on the ground under the searing heat of it. She smiled as she watched him squirm in agony on the ground, but after ten seconds, she felt the spell end, and she had to sit down, exhausted. On the ground in front of her lay a huge, charred wolf.
After a moment, she stood, retrieved the bladed half of her spear, and was about to go back to Jacques when she heard low growling behind her. She slowly turned around and, to her amazement, Rhave was standing up once again. Her had no fur, no tail, no ears, and his entire body was disfigured beyond recognition, but he was standing again, and she had no more magic left in her save for healing.
"Die!" he screamed, and lunged forward with his jaws wide open and his claws outstretched. Nasoren dropped to one knee, grabbed the second half of her spear, and then shot forward in a counter-charge. She used the two halves to take the momentum from the strikes of his claws and then bent over backwards to let the jaws snap over her. As she fell backwards from her bending, she spun her arms back, planted the two spear halves into the ground, and used them as a lever to flip backwards and kick Rhave in the mouth with both of her metal-shod boots before landing standing up.
She was ready before it was, and she dropped the second half of the spear and ran at the wolf with the bladed half clutched in both hands. She shoved the spear through the roof of Rhave's mouth and into its brain then, after pulling it out when it snapped down, spun to the side and sliced down the side of its face, slicing out its last eye. Rhave tried to slash at her, but she was within its guard, and she kicked one leg straight up, showing amazing flexibility, and slipped it over the wolf's neck. She used that leg as a lever to shift herself until she was sitting on its shoulders, and within seconds she was stabbing into the base of Rhave's neck with all of her force. At first it bucked and skipped, trying to dislodge her, but after only two or three of those it slowed, and eventually it could only stand still as she plunged her spear blade into the base of its neck again and again. Amazingly, it was only when the last ties of skin broke and its head fell to the ground that its body followed.
Nasoren kicked off of the body, and landed on the ground to the side of it before losing her footing and falling to the ground herself. When she got up she turned and saw Jacques staring at her.
"What?" She looked down and saw that she was mostly red with the blood that had spewed from Rhave's neck, and then looked over at the huge wolf that was slowly turning back into a dwarfish human, then back at Jacques, who was still staring.
"Damn," was his only, uncouth, response, as he went to recollect his knives. Their battle was finally finished.
For his part, Triplecorpse's battle still raged, and neither side had slowed in the least. They still battled as fiercely as when the first blow had been struck, and as always, he swung his hammer with just enough strength to stop Blood's sword. Both parties fought with all of their might, and it was obvious that any other fighter would have broken, but still it was clear that their fight would not end soon like it was going now.
Maybe it was because they both realized that the battle must end, or maybe they were spurred on by Rhave's death, but for some reason, they both brought their weapons back and smashed them together. Instead of pulling back, though, they kept them locked. The face of the hammer ground against the blade of the sword, and both fighter's muscles bulged as they fought to force the other into submission through the most ancient method of overpowering the other. Their stances were low, and they were face to face, eying each other from only a foot or so away. At first they were once again equal, but then Blood shoved his head forward and snapped his jaws. Triplecorpse jerked his head back, and survived, but Blood used that moment to shove his sword forward.
Triplecorpse kept his ground, but his hammer was closer to him, and now it was steadily being pushed closer to him as Blood used that extra amount of distance as leverage. Blood smiled and wordlessly celebrated his victory. Triplecorpse smiled back, and spewed out the juices from his chewing tobacco into Blood's eyes. Blood instinctively jerked back, and the clash between the two of them was broken. Taking a few steps back, Blood swung his sword out blindly in an attempt to keep Triplecorpse away, but he was already there. Triplecorpse swung his hammer in both hands directly at the middle of the sword, and instead of both weapons meeting at the middle of their strikes, his hammer caught the sword early, and with that extra strength, added to the fact that the sword had been chipping constantly from having to clash with a hammer, broke the sword in two.
There was a loud snap, like a crack of lightning, and the top half of the blade was blown away from the rest of it to smash into the body of a werewolf to the side of them. Blood quickly wiped the juices away from his eyes, but when he could see again, all he saw was Triplecorpse's large-headed hammer coming right for his chest. The hammer rocked into him with all of the considerable strength the barbarian possessed, and Blood, the strongest of the werewolves, was blown back.
Triplecorpse wasted no time in pursuing, but when he went to slam his hammer down on Blood's head, a large, blood-red hand reached up and grabbed one of his arms. The power that had rocked the strongest of the werewolves was stopped completely, and when Triplecorpse looked down at the first class werewolf below him, he saw something that was larger and stronger than ever before, and its eyes were pure black. Blood had gone feral, and while this can be seen as a weakness to most werewolves, it was only more strength to him. His muscles shot out to at least one and a half of their original size, and his claws looked more like long knives than anything else. His fangs completely filled his mouth.
Another hand shot out, and Triplecorpse was blown back as Blood had been only second before. The difference being that five large holes were in Triplecorpse's chest, and Blood was on him just as he hit the ground. Blood sat his enormous weight on Triplecorpse and stuck his claw into his arms, pinning him to the ground. Triplecorpse tried to struggle, but the weight and strength was too much for him. Saliva dripped on his face as blood opened his mouth, and he shot his mouth down for the deathblow.
Had he been in his normal state, blood may have noticed Triplecorpse trap his right leg with his left, but he was beyond what could be considered thought, and so he was surprised and slightly bewildered when Triplecorpse shoved his hips up, pulled his arms—and Blood's, by extension—in, and rolled his body to the side. Blood could have stopped the roll that ended with him on his back with either his leg or arm, but his arm was stuck in Triplecorpse's, and his leg was caught. As it was, he soon found himself on the bottom.
Triplecorpse was between his opponent's legs, but he swiftly bypassed them while pulling his arms off of Blood's claws, and in another moment he had Blood where he had been only moments before. He did not have large jaws, though, so he brought a hand up and slammed it down on blood's
snout. Teeth shattered, blood flowed, and the werewolf's pointed face became just a bit flatter. After the first punch, Blood seemed to regain hiss senses and began to claw at Triplecorpse's body, since his arms were not able to reach his head, and struggle fiercely. His claws slashed furrows down Triplecorpse's back, chest, and stomach, but Triplecorpse never stopped punching. He methodically lifted one arm after the other, and sent it crashing down with the strength of a titan.
He was littered with slashes, some of which went all of the way across him, and rows of blood criss-crossed his back and chest until blood flowed from him like water. It spewed down from him and onto Blood, further reddening his fur. Yet, even though his body was beaten and torn continuously, still Triplecorpse kept punching, and with each blow, Blood struggled less fiercely. His arms eventually took on more of a flailing attitude, and even those slowed with time, until with one final burst of strength he shoved his long knife-like claws into Triplecorpse's back. Triplecorpse groaned with the pain, but lifted his fist and threw it down one last time.
The hardened knuckles connected with the remains of Blood's face with a splat, as it was now more mush than anything solid. His snout had been pounded until it was flat against his eyes and ears, and when Triplecorpse brought his hand back, the imprint of it was still visible where he had struck his target. Triplecorpse raised his arm again, but then he opened his fist and pulled Blood's claws from his back, laid his arms on the ground, and stood. As he towered over the huge werewolf, one of Blood's eyes opened, and, amazingly, he spoke. His voice was twisted with the pain and distorted by his wrecked features, but it was still intelligible, which was a tribute to the first class werewolves' amazing regenerative abilities.
"This can't be. I-I'm the strongest."
"True," Triplecorpse kneeled back down until his face was right next to Blood's. "But not the best." He placed one hand on either side of Blood's head, and began to press his hands together. Blood's head was already healing, and his body was still in perfect condition. He could have resisted the juggernaut human, and might even have won, but his mind was broken beyond repair. He was the strongest, and he knew it, but he had been beaten into submission by a human. He had lost with weapons, on the ground, and even blow for blow. Everything he had tried to do had been defeated; he had been bested by a human! The shame and despair were too great for even him. He had given up, and there is no regenerative power in the world that can heal that.
In the end, all he could do was moan as his skull compressed minutely for a few seconds, and then mewl for a few more as cracks began to form in his head and blood began shooting from them. In another moment, his head exploded as Triplecorpse's hands met, and his brains and gray matter were sent out into the air.
As Blood's headless body fell to the ground, Triplecorpse rose and thrust his hand into the air. A yell of victory burst from his lungs, but it soon cut short. He began breathing swiftly in an attempt to make up for the fact that his lungs had been pierced through by Blood's claws, and soon he fell to the ground with a splash as the large pool of blood made by him and Blood was disturbed.
"Nasoren! I know that you are of the Paladin sect. It would do us great gain if you could attend to the grievous wounds that my heavily-beset friend seems to have attained. Please use all of the haste you can muster, I believe that he is not long to live in this realm of existence."
Had Jacques not been fighting at the moment, he would have noticed that Nasoren had started running towards Triplecorpse the moment he had stood up, and had reached him just as he fell. She knelt down by him and immediately began casting all of the healing spells she knew in the order she had been taught. First she healed his deep flesh, then, when he was breathing again, she started on the countless gashes all along his body.
When Jacques finally did turn around, and saw that his friend would at least live, he smiled and looked around the battlefield while muttering something about having wasted all of those pretty words on something that was already happening. Many vampires and necromancers lay dead. Most had been ripped open and their hearts excavated, but all were brutalized. It was the aftermath of being assaulted by an elite force of werewolves, and yet many first class werewolves also lay dead on the ground. There were not nearly as many, but enough for Jacques to be impressed. The vampire slayers and Paladins were also suffering their share of casualties, but despite all of the deaths that piled the clearing in the middle of the vampires' camp, it was obvious that the battle here would be determined by a much smaller skirmish at the middle of it.
The three-man battle between Vladimir, the King, and E, and the two-woman battle between Saphira and the Queen had devolved into a five-fighter free-for-all. All of them struggled as one, and they constantly shifted opponents from one to another. They gave everything to their battles, retaining just enough presence of mind to hold back their weapon if their ally came in front of them. It had seemed like all of them had fought another at least once, but then when at last two of them met, none were ready for it.
E and Saphira paused as they found one in front of the other. Their eyes met, and in those seconds they seemed to speak volumes to each other. E's seemed to plead with her. They begged with more eloquence than words can convey to come back with him; to live once again. With just a flicker, her eyes replied with pain. They shot back of the agony and the sorrow of all of these years spent away from her family. The century she had lived with the creatures she hated, the spawns of her defiler. For the briefest of moments, she almost looked like she wanted to come with him, but then her eyes hardened, and her beautiful face twisted in a sneer. Her voice cracked even as she spoke, though.
"It's too late, little brother."
She lunged at him, her sword swimming through the air like a reflection on the water being upset by ripples. It constantly changed its course in the seconds between the beginning of her attack in the end, which made E have to move his own guard around in anticipation, and yet when it finally struck, it was exactly where it had been in the beginning. E was barely able to block the attack, and when he himself struck out, Saphira flowed around his sword just like a whipping banner. Her next attack was, impossibly, even stranger and harder to predict than the first, and it landed at a place completely different than the first indication.
Once again, E was barely able to parry her sword to the side, but, once again, his attack was ineffective. Saphira continued to attack in her unorthodox manner; she moved in and out of the zone of combat, lunged to the side faster than the eye could follow just to dance deliberately back, and seemed to work with his sword rather than against it. In short, her fighting style confounded him, and even though he could keep up with it at the moment, she soon increased her pace. She whirled, ducked, wove back and forth, spun, and slashed at an ever-increasing speed until she was beyond the human comprehension.
Many small cuts began to show through E's clothing, though none had seen them executed, and in the end he threw himself back desperately as her sword pierced his chest. He had somehow seen her thrust in time to save himself from death, but still felt the edge of her blade enter his chest, and when he hit the ground, he felt the blood begin to soak his shirt. He tried to get up, but before he could even get off his back, Saphira walked up to him and placed her foot on his chest.
"What's the matter, little brother? Your old age finally catching up to you?"
He looked up at her smile and frowned in sympathy. "I'm sorry, sister."
Her smile turned to a look of question. "For what?"
"For this." Blinding light filled her sight, and at this distance, with that intensity, it was too much even for her. She screamed, dropped her sword, and fell to the ground. In moments, though, her powerful body regained itself, and her eyes stopped hurting. When she opened them, she stared down the blade of E's sword. He stood above her, and their eyes met once again. This time however, his appeal met with only a stone wall of resistance.
"Do it, little brother. Kill me, and end this torment."Her eyes a
nd voice spoke defiance.
His grip tightened on the hilt of the sword and his veins bulged. He wanted to. He wanted to kill her, to save her, more than anything in the world, but even so the tip of his sword fell to the ground.
"I'm sorry sister, but this is not the way to save you. I cannot do this." His eyes fell, and he knew that he had failed.
"Luckily, I am under no such compunction," a voice whispered into his ear.
E turned swiftly to try to attack the opponent behind him, but it was pointless. He came about just in time to watch as Vladimir plunged one of his claws into his chest. The claws shot through him, bursting out of his back, and Vladimir let go of the grip and took a step back. All fighting, even the King and Queen—who had been battling with Vladimir and who had been looking for him ever since he disappeared—stopped, and all watched as E staggered, stumbled, and finally toppled to the ground.