Abbey Rose
Transpositively Euphoric
As Keydis fell from above, Aeria danced below.
Her body twisted and moved, spinning and ducking through the mass of tentacles that cracked at her like whips, her halberd twirling in her hands like a baton. The backhaft slammed into the ground as she pivoted away, then pushed up to smack one limb as she sliced through another with the other side. The anger at her comrade’s wounds fueled her motion, leading her step by step through her macabre waltz.
The guardian struck at her wildly, devoting more and more appendages to the task until the air around seemed to become a small pocket of dark night. Still the lancer moved, undaunted by her monstrous foe’s mad attacks. The tentacles tore lines in her clothes, created small welts and bruises as she flowed between feint and counterstroke, but still she moved, keeping her lifeblood within as she danced the line between heaven and hell.
In contrast to her partner’s grace, the Keydis was a stone, simply thrown down from the heavens. When thrown from the heavens, however, grace becomes secondary to the pure potency and lethality of physics. Gravity fell upon the mercenary, pushing her to go faster and faster. Her prey, focused as it was on Aeria, could only mount a small defense against her, sending tentacles up to encircle and grab her.
It was like trying to catch a bullet with your fingers. The weapons of night, fast as they were, missed. They darted back down, attempting to grab her back and pull her up, but she was too fast. With a roar, she plunged into the guardian, her blade tunneling through dark flesh and what little armor remained until she emerged through the other side, bursting out the bottom portion of the beast, blood dripping from her hands as it clenched her blade in a white knuckled grip.
Aeria continued moving, shifting past and through attack after attack. Her foot stumbled for a step, failing to adjust for a fist sized chunk of concrete that had landed just before she had entered that space. It threw her movements off by maybe an inch. Her movement stopped for a single split-second to try and compensate, but she knew that that was enough. she cursed, fully ready to catch the deadly point of a tentacle through the gut or even her head. She did not close her eyes, however, and looked up sharply at what fate held for her.
A single tentacle, sharp as a claw and filled with starry black night, hovered between her eyes, less than a single inch from her face. It was completely still, motionless. Past it, she could see the same stillness in the guardian itself. It had become almost like a statue, frozen in time. Small grainy bits of what appeared to be sand flaked off of it as the woman watched, carried off by the wind.
Under that statue, Keydis stood, panting. Her violent eyes stared at the white orb skewered into the middle of her blade. It glowed like a dying sun, filled with sharp but quickly dimming light. It pulsed vainly, trying to breathe life back into itself. Then, with a harsh crackling sound, cracks sprouted from it, starting from the blade and expanding rapidly to cover the whole sphere. Each weak pulse of light seemed to cause chunks of sphere to fall off, shattering into powder as they landed upon the ground.
Then, with one last pulse, the entire orb collapsed into dust. A small plate of metal fell with it, clattering onto the ground and raising a small white cloud of dust. The wind seemed to pick up at this, blowing away both the white dust and, as Aeria watched, taking more and more of the guardian’s corpse. It dwindled into nothing swiftly, as if time itself was carrying off the body to be disposed of.
At the end, all that was left of the guardian was that small plate. No larger than Keydis’ hand, it gleamed as if it had been freshly polished. Words, deep and clear, had been engraved upon the metal. Words that carried the weight of an epitaph.
“And So Ends The Watch Of High Templar Chesmalt. May His Memory Be An Everlasting Bulwark.”
FINAL: 710/2422
Her body twisted and moved, spinning and ducking through the mass of tentacles that cracked at her like whips, her halberd twirling in her hands like a baton. The backhaft slammed into the ground as she pivoted away, then pushed up to smack one limb as she sliced through another with the other side. The anger at her comrade’s wounds fueled her motion, leading her step by step through her macabre waltz.
The guardian struck at her wildly, devoting more and more appendages to the task until the air around seemed to become a small pocket of dark night. Still the lancer moved, undaunted by her monstrous foe’s mad attacks. The tentacles tore lines in her clothes, created small welts and bruises as she flowed between feint and counterstroke, but still she moved, keeping her lifeblood within as she danced the line between heaven and hell.
In contrast to her partner’s grace, the Keydis was a stone, simply thrown down from the heavens. When thrown from the heavens, however, grace becomes secondary to the pure potency and lethality of physics. Gravity fell upon the mercenary, pushing her to go faster and faster. Her prey, focused as it was on Aeria, could only mount a small defense against her, sending tentacles up to encircle and grab her.
It was like trying to catch a bullet with your fingers. The weapons of night, fast as they were, missed. They darted back down, attempting to grab her back and pull her up, but she was too fast. With a roar, she plunged into the guardian, her blade tunneling through dark flesh and what little armor remained until she emerged through the other side, bursting out the bottom portion of the beast, blood dripping from her hands as it clenched her blade in a white knuckled grip.
Aeria continued moving, shifting past and through attack after attack. Her foot stumbled for a step, failing to adjust for a fist sized chunk of concrete that had landed just before she had entered that space. It threw her movements off by maybe an inch. Her movement stopped for a single split-second to try and compensate, but she knew that that was enough. she cursed, fully ready to catch the deadly point of a tentacle through the gut or even her head. She did not close her eyes, however, and looked up sharply at what fate held for her.
A single tentacle, sharp as a claw and filled with starry black night, hovered between her eyes, less than a single inch from her face. It was completely still, motionless. Past it, she could see the same stillness in the guardian itself. It had become almost like a statue, frozen in time. Small grainy bits of what appeared to be sand flaked off of it as the woman watched, carried off by the wind.
Under that statue, Keydis stood, panting. Her violent eyes stared at the white orb skewered into the middle of her blade. It glowed like a dying sun, filled with sharp but quickly dimming light. It pulsed vainly, trying to breathe life back into itself. Then, with a harsh crackling sound, cracks sprouted from it, starting from the blade and expanding rapidly to cover the whole sphere. Each weak pulse of light seemed to cause chunks of sphere to fall off, shattering into powder as they landed upon the ground.
Then, with one last pulse, the entire orb collapsed into dust. A small plate of metal fell with it, clattering onto the ground and raising a small white cloud of dust. The wind seemed to pick up at this, blowing away both the white dust and, as Aeria watched, taking more and more of the guardian’s corpse. It dwindled into nothing swiftly, as if time itself was carrying off the body to be disposed of.
At the end, all that was left of the guardian was that small plate. No larger than Keydis’ hand, it gleamed as if it had been freshly polished. Words, deep and clear, had been engraved upon the metal. Words that carried the weight of an epitaph.
“And So Ends The Watch Of High Templar Chesmalt. May His Memory Be An Everlasting Bulwark.”
FINAL: 710/2422
Last edited:
