| Let us never forget, in our obsession with living our lives, the brightness of fire. For as long as mankind has existed, born unto this world, fire has been our companion, given to us by the gods. Fire guarded the entrances to our shelters from the monsters of the clawing dark. Fire cooked our meats and provided us with warmth and societal development. Fire is the same light that embodies the human spirit, and yes, while we do need other elements to survive, such as water and air, fire is the essence of the soul. The bright spark behind hungry eyes, the hotness of deep rage, the heat of passionate love — all of these manifestations of the soul in the material world are things born of fire. Do not be afraid of fire. Fire is a pack animal, and we are its brothers. |
~ Spirmagio’s Great Tome of the Elements, Chapter one
| ~ [???] ~ |
| Human, Female, Monk |
| Location: The City |
Smoke drifts through the air, the heat of so many fires carrying vivid sparks up towards the night sky, filling it all around the city as if the stars had crashed down low to the world. Despite the abundance of flames and lights in the sky, the darkness of the night is oppressive and crushing, as if these stars had, too, brought the void in which they rest down with them.
Endless screams and cries ring out aloud, piercing through the air with the striking of a bell tolling an endless number of times towards a witching hour — midnight — that never seems to come.
She lifts her gaze, looking at the monster in blackened armor, rising up unnaturally to its feet. Its boots stand firmly on the ground, yet its breastplate and helmet lie separate from one-another, pulling back together after a moment as if the suit of armor was possessed by a damned spirit. Metal rattles and glass clinks as the giant rights itself back up again, looking at her.
It lifts the axe, readying itself for another round. Monsters crawl out of the darkness behind it. Countless silhouettes of fangs and claws reach out of the smoke in pursuit of the people escaping.
— The world around them takes on a vivid glow of a new color of sunshine as an uncontrolled burst of radiant magic careens down the street, crashing into the houses between them. The wall breaks through, debris and rubble flying out in all directions as the house collapses down across the road, taking the neighboring structure with it, blocking off the entire way.
The monk lowers her arms from her face as the last of the debris settles and looks down at her feet, where a face is lying upside down, staring up her way.
“I flew too fast,” says Orange, holding her hand over mouth and coughing, rain splashing down around her wings that lie on the street. “Ow.”
She bends down, grabbing the uthra, and helps her to her feet. “Why are you here?” asks the monk. Orange looks behind herself at the destroyed houses and then back at her and shrugs.
“Because you’re here,” replies Orange, looking at the monk.
She looks at her for a moment and then shakes her head. “This isn’t the time for games,” she says. “Please. Go back to the tower immediately,” explains the woman, turning around. “You aren’t safe here.” She walks off, needing to find a new way to reach the heart of the city.
“It’s too heavy!” yells the man, standing next to an overturned carriage that is laying on its side on the door. The right side of it is covered in the rubble of a collapsed house, blocking both of the doors. People are inside the carriage, feverishly knocking on the ceiling and yelling. The man and several others are trying to remove the rubble to get them out, but the number of monsters coming out into the streets is just increasing by the minute.
An adventuring party is here, keeping the scene as clear as they can, but they look like they’re ready to make a break for it themselves as the tide is beginning to turn out of their favor.
Drakes are crawling around the burning rubble, small lizard-like creatures that will one day grow into full-sized dragons, the likes of which have mostly been exterminated in the wilds of the world, despite their thriving well deep inside the hearts of dungeons.
She runs forward, through the fighting and the screaming, and lifts a hand, exhaling as she then forces it forward into the carriage’s roof. The solid wood, several inches thick, shatters as her fist strikes against it, creating a large hole that people begin fighting each other to be the first to crawl out of.
Someone screams off to the side, and she looks as the adventuring party collects themselves together and makes a group effort to retreat as something crests around the bend. A dragon, young but ferociously large and easily the height of two men, rounds the bend, spotting them and roaring.
– She reaches out, yanking the fleeing wizard of the party back towards herself, and looks him in the eyes. “Get ready to shoot another spell,” she says. “Aim for its mouth.”
“Are you crazy?!” yells the man, pulling at her hands. “I’m level thirty-seven, lady! Let go of me!”
She pulls him in, looking him in the eyes. “Cast the spell,” she says sternly, setting him back down on his shaking legs as she turns around, running forward straight at the dragon, multiple drakes diving out of the rubble to nip at her legs and heels, most of them failing to get more than some loose fabric that their teeth rips through. The mother dragon closes its mouth, vapors collecting around its teeth as it gets ready to blast out whatever is collecting inside its belly.
Her boots crunch on the stones and broken glass beneath her feet. A welp dives at her from straight ahead, and she lifts her leg, kicking off its torso as she jumps up to the furious mother dragon’s neck with surprising agility.
| (???) has used: [Meadow Spring] |
Her hands grab its lower jaw and its nostril as she wraps her legs around its neck, pulling the lashing creature’s head up towards the air and forcing its mouth open, releasing an uncontrolled blast of violently streaming fire into the air. The dragon roars, kicking and lashing, striking its head against the walls of the broken houses in an attempt to get her off. She slams against the brickwork, gritting her teeth through the pain, fighting against its movements by kicking off the walls herself.
“NOW!” yells the monk at the panicked wizard, who is still standing there, stuck between his group, which is trying to get him to leave, and the spell he already has prepared in his hands. She jumps down, pulling the dragon’s head with her, and rips its mouth open. The panicked wizard screams, throwing his spell through the night and straight towards them. A chaotic stream of arcane magic bullets fly forward and straight into the dragon’s exposed mouth and neck, tearing through its core from the soft, exposed insides.
The panicked adventurers yank their caster away as the spell fades, and they and the people of the carriage vanish off into the night. She tightens her grip as the dragon sputters and chokes, dozens of whelps around them screaming in rage as their matriarch is killed.
She looks at the small monster as the heavy neck in her grasp falls limp.
They slowly back away.
But not fast enough.
| (???) has used: [{04} Savannah Crush] |
The surrounded family runs away. The zombie’s body shudders as her fist breaks its ribcage, a wave of energy pulsing through its body at once, breaking all of its bones and causing it to fall down to the ground. With a sweeping kick, she knocks another two down and then jumps over them, clinging onto a statue that she clambers up with animal grace, before kicking off of it and grabbing hold of an open upper-story window of a house that she swings into.
She looks around the child’s bedroom, panting, and then runs to the window across the room to climb back out of it. Dolls and toys lie strewn over the floor and the furniture.
Grabbing hold of the window, she pulls it open and then looks down to the street on the house side of the house. She climbs out of the window and drops down, catching herself with a small roll over her shoulder.
People scream down the way, and she turns, running in their direction.
A group of city guards is surrounded, but they are holding their own with a circle of tower shields against a swarm of monsters.
She runs forward, jumping over rocks and rubble to move towards the group of men, their metal wall covered in deep, heavy scars and surrounded by heaps of dead monsters that more and more simply crawl over, in some areas bypassing the tower shields entirely by just dropping over them after ascending a staircase of corpses.
— A massive wooden support beam, easily hundreds of kilos in weight and the length of several men together, crashes through the mass. An explosion of dust and debris flies into the air as the defensive line quite literally explodes from the force of the impact. Monsters rush in, undeterred by the chaos that had mangled several of their own, and tear the men of the broken circle down to red stones. Fire spreads, eating away at the ring of houses around the plaza.
The monk turns her head, watching as her body shakes with slow, rhythmic pulses that she would mistake for the beat of her heart if not for the fact that she can see the vibrations being caused by the heavy, crushing steps of the dark giant.
The same one as before.
The screaming seems to be quiet to the both of them as it simply, slowly turns its head, looking towards her, its dented breastplate marred by her fist in their prior encounter, and lifts an arm, striking against itself as a hoarse exhalation rings out around the plaza. It's a deep, heavy exhalation that feels as if she could feel it on her face even at this distance.
She runs forward, the beads on her arms rattling as she plants a foot on a dead man’s chest and presses off of it, her fist raised as she lunges.
| (???) has used: [{07} River Impact] |
The woman flies through the air, the sharpness of her form cutting through the smoke and the ash; the streams of air traveling behind her fist that resemble flowing waters trailing behind her fist as she presses onward, striking at the monster who catches her hand. Its arm lurches back, its shoulder seemingly dislocating, but this isn’t betrayed by any hint of pain.
A quake of energy blasts out around them, the shockwave throwing monsters away into the night and rolling corpses off into the flames that burn abundant all around them, forming the arena of their duel as they take light, the dense fats of their bodies burning hotly.
“What are you?” she asks, glaring into the helmet of the man as the ripple moves through his body from his arm through to his chest, shaking his form into something inconsistent, that then returns to the form of a man once the energy dissipates.
His chest heaves as he breathes, his strange, acidic breath pressing against her like a summer storm as the metal of his helmet touches that of his breastplate as he looks down to meet her gaze. “Strong,” is all that he replies with.
His hand clamps down over her fist, and he flings her to the side. She hurtles through the air, tumbling over the stones and then catching herself, sliding as she meets the edge of the flames around them. They lick her skin, the orange and red tendrils rising up to meet her hair of the same color, as if they were seeking their brethren.
— The monk jumps forward, returning to the fight, her fist crashing into his leg, the limb unnaturally breaking off and flying backwards, connected by a sickly, wet tendril of slime to the rest of the body that glitters in the light of the encroaching flames. But instead of losing his balance, the giant simply crashes his hand down over her shoulder, striking down into the space between her neck and her shoulder with a bundled fist. Wood rattles as she just barely catches it, blocking it with her wrist, bent up over her shoulder.
Grabbing his wrist, she twists it, instinctively trying to throw the man onto his side as she would do with any armored opponent. A heavily armored enemy’s greatest weakness is their footing. If they lose it, they’re at a significant disadvantage.
Of course, this muscle memory proves useless.
The man’s wrist simply twists for as far as she can turn it without any further problems.
— A heavy hand grabs the back of her head, wrapping its fingers around her head, and then slams her down toward the stones.
| (???) has used: [Meadow Spring] |
Her boot presses off of his chest, kicking off of his body. His chestplate, held together by an inconsistent force, gives way. His arm, unable to resist tension, pulls out of its socket as she yanks on it, flying forward gracelessly from the power of the ability, skidding over the stones and the rubble, bloodying her face and arms as she rolls. Her bent knee lands in a row of brightly burning flames, fueled by the melting fat of a heap of corpses, and she screams, pulling herself out of it after a moment of panicked daze.
Panting, she rises to her feet, wincing and looking down at the gauntlet in her arm and then at the blackened spot on her leg, where the fabric of her robes has burned away, the bone of her knee-cap becoming indistinctly visible.
— Wet dribbles out of the metal glove, dripping down to the stones like blood.
It drips the stones and then, puddling, begins to flow like a serpent away from her and back towards the monster in the armor, returning to become a part of the whole once again.
She looks down at the empty gauntlet and then at the monster before tossing it to the side.
Apart from the one gauntlet, the giant pulls itself fully back together, its legs and chest back in place, its legs restored and from the missing arm comes out a lashing, slimy tendril. The appendage extends outwardly, far longer than its other arm.
Without emotion, without light in its eyes, without the grace of anything akin to the love of a god, it lurches forward towards her — unrelenting, like a monster from a nightmare that never stops its pursuit until the dreamer awakes upon being caught.
She moves forward, getting ready to return to the fight for another round. But she winces, falling over as her knee fails from its injuries. The monk catches herself on her palms, crawling like an animal for a step, and then jumps forward with her other leg instead.
In her old life, she was a dungeon killer, a member of an extermination team.
It was her job to go to the new-born dungeons of the world and to eliminate them if they were incompatible with humanity. In pure theory, this magic phrase meant ensuring that they were safe for society to be around. But in reality, it meant that she was simply tasked with destroying the dungeons that couldn’t be easily milked for profit by the powers that be in the world, as if they were beasts trapped in a horrific farm.
In her life before that one, she was a monk.
She trained day in and day out for years to become someone strong, someone capable of protecting the world through the sheer advanced mastery of her own heart, body, and soul, using those as powers to tighten and strengthen her form beyond human norms.
Strong. It’s a good word, isn’t it? It’s a good feeling to be strong — to have strength to use.
She became strong.
The woman’s fist collides with the giant’s remaining armored hand, which had also formed the same violent shape as hers, sending ripples through both of their bodies as their forceful impacts meet one another. Something cracks deep inside her elbow. Her arm is broken.
— The monster’s tendril slaps against her from the side, sharply whipping against her side. She flies to the side, falling over her bad leg as something wet and acidic burns on the skin of her neck.
But in that old life as a dungeon exterminator, did she ever really help a single person?
She jumps forward again.
Why, when she was so strong, was she sent to fight unimportant low-level dungeon-cores of all things? Why wasn’t she sent to fight witches? Why wasn’t she sent to fight the real, true monsters of this world? Why wasn’t she sent to hunt the horrific, gnashing teeth in the endless night of the soulless oblivion that exists within this world? The monsters that walk amongst men, without the lights of fire in their hearts and souls?
— The giant’s eyes glint in the midnight that she shares with it as they both lose their footing. She lands on her bad leg, wincing and stumbling back, falling.
The woman gets up again, bracing herself, and then returns to her fighting posture.
Why did she waste the fruits of her soul just to help a few people become richer than they already were? Why did she waste that beautiful gift of life and strength she was given? The spring of her existence, as Isaiah would call it? She can’t explain her past. Despite her training and her expertise, even she was susceptible to the trap of fate — simply falling into place somewhere in the world and accepting that as her life without questioning it any deeper.
It was only through the entity, Isaiah, that she even came to realize the road she was on. She, unlike her colleagues from the extermination team, was the only one spared from ending up where it led.
The monk leaps forward again, fire burning in her spirit brighter than the flames of the city around them, and the giant comes barreling straight at her, the radiant glow of haunting moonlight locked in its eyes.
The human spirit isn’t something that should be wasted on idle existence. It’s too precious. It burns too hot and goes out too quickly.
The fire of the soul burns so brightly, with so much radiance and heat, that to simply let that flow off into the endless night, rather than allowing it to warm the hearts and lives of those around oneself is such a waste that it is perhaps the greatest tragedy that could take place within life. To be cold, to be empty, to be without love, faith, and passion, to live without the spark of joyous passion for existence in one’s eyes, is to be separate from the true purpose of life.
— To shine brightly and warm those around oneself, before the fuel runs out.
She lifts her non-dominant arm, wood rattling in her ears, proof of the devotion to her principles and soul as she lunges towards the monster that comes to meet her in the middle. Her hair flies through the air like wildfire.
Strong.
If not then, at least now, if only just for a little while — she burned strongly.
Gods bless Isaiah.
— Her body flies out of its trajectory as something crashes into her. The heavy gauntlet strikes against Orange’s back, the monk’s fist into her front as the uthra dives into the attacks. She and the uthra fly off, gracelessly tumbling over stones, rubble, and one another, her body being tightly held as they roll.
The two of them come to a stop.
Dazed, she looks at the uthra, trying to orient herself. She herself is lying down on the ground. Orange is lying over her. Visible behind the uthra is a broken, crooked wing, rising and falling with the short, raspy breaths that come from a source held beneath broken ribs. The monk grabs the uthra, pushing her up.
“Are you okay?!” she asks. “Why are you here?!” asks the woman, staring up at the dirty, crying face that has an ugly expression and a quivering lip. Droplets fall down onto her face, separate from the rain.
“B- Because you’re here!” yells Orange, flailing and howling out of the woman’s grasp, hitting her repeatedly, a burning shine of fire reflected in her wet eyes. She tries to fly up into the air, but her left wing is broken. “You’re my only friend!” cries the uthra.
Heavy boots shake the ground as the giant stomps toward them, coming closer and closer. She looks past Orange, seeing the giant raise a hand into the air, holding a heavy piece of rubble in it.
The monk, holding Orange’s shoulder, uses her good leg to flip them over so that she herself is on top. The uthra screams as she lands on her hurt wing, the monk laying over her on her hurt chest.
She closes her eyes as the stone comes down.
Razmatazz
Stands behind you menacingly with a cliffhanger
| Let us never forget, in our obsession with living our lives, the brightness of fire. For as long as mankind has existed, born unto this world, fire has been our companion, given to us by the gods. Fire guarded the entrances to our shelters from the monsters of the clawing dark. Fire cooked our meats and provided us with warmth and societal development. Fire is the same light that embodies the human spirit, and yes, while we do need other elements to survive, such as water and air, fire is the essence of the soul. The bright spark behind hungry eyes, the hotness of deep rage, the heat of passionate love — all of these manifestations of the soul in the material world are things born of fire. Do not be afraid of fire. Fire is a pack animal, and we are its brothers. |
~ Spirmagio’s Great Tome of the Elements, Chapter one
| ~ [???] ~ |
| Human, Female, Monk |
| Location: The City |
Smoke drifts through the air, the heat of so many fires carrying vivid sparks up towards the night sky, filling it all around the city as if the stars had crashed down low to the world. Despite the abundance of flames and lights in the sky, the darkness of the night is oppressive and crushing, as if these stars had, too, brought the void in which they rest down with them.
Endless screams and cries ring out aloud, piercing through the air with the striking of a bell tolling an endless number of times towards a witching hour — midnight — that never seems to come.
She lifts her gaze, looking at the monster in blackened armor, rising up unnaturally to its feet. Its boots stand firmly on the ground, yet its breastplate and helmet lie separate from one-another, pulling back together after a moment as if the suit of armor was possessed by a damned spirit. Metal rattles and glass clinks as the giant rights itself back up again, looking at her.
It lifts the axe, readying itself for another round. Monsters crawl out of the darkness behind it. Countless silhouettes of fangs and claws reach out of the smoke in pursuit of the people escaping.
— The world around them takes on a vivid glow of a new color of sunshine as an uncontrolled burst of radiant magic careens down the street, crashing into the houses between them. The wall breaks through, debris and rubble flying out in all directions as the house collapses down across the road, taking the neighboring structure with it, blocking off the entire way.
The monk lowers her arms from her face as the last of the debris settles and looks down at her feet, where a face is lying upside down, staring up her way.
“I flew too fast,” says Orange, holding her hand over mouth and coughing, rain splashing down around her wings that lie on the street. “Ow.”
She bends down, grabbing the uthra, and helps her to her feet. “Why are you here?” asks the monk. Orange looks behind herself at the destroyed houses and then back at her and shrugs.
“Because you’re here,” replies Orange, looking at the monk.
She looks at her for a moment and then shakes her head. “This isn’t the time for games,” she says. “Please. Go back to the tower immediately,” explains the woman, turning around. “You aren’t safe here.” She walks off, needing to find a new way to reach the heart of the city.
“It’s too heavy!” yells the man, standing next to an overturned carriage that is laying on its side on the door. The right side of it is covered in the rubble of a collapsed house, blocking both of the doors. People are inside the carriage, feverishly knocking on the ceiling and yelling. The man and several others are trying to remove the rubble to get them out, but the number of monsters coming out into the streets is just increasing by the minute.
An adventuring party is here, keeping the scene as clear as they can, but they look like they’re ready to make a break for it themselves as the tide is beginning to turn out of their favor.
Drakes are crawling around the burning rubble, small lizard-like creatures that will one day grow into full-sized dragons, the likes of which have mostly been exterminated in the wilds of the world, despite their thriving well deep inside the hearts of dungeons.
She runs forward, through the fighting and the screaming, and lifts a hand, exhaling as she then forces it forward into the carriage’s roof. The solid wood, several inches thick, shatters as her fist strikes against it, creating a large hole that people begin fighting each other to be the first to crawl out of.
Someone screams off to the side, and she looks as the adventuring party collects themselves together and makes a group effort to retreat as something crests around the bend. A dragon, young but ferociously large and easily the height of two men, rounds the bend, spotting them and roaring.
– She reaches out, yanking the fleeing wizard of the party back towards herself, and looks him in the eyes. “Get ready to shoot another spell,” she says. “Aim for its mouth.”
“Are you crazy?!” yells the man, pulling at her hands. “I’m level thirty-seven, lady! Let go of me!”
She pulls him in, looking him in the eyes. “Cast the spell,” she says sternly, setting him back down on his shaking legs as she turns around, running forward straight at the dragon, multiple drakes diving out of the rubble to nip at her legs and heels, most of them failing to get more than some loose fabric that their teeth rips through. The mother dragon closes its mouth, vapors collecting around its teeth as it gets ready to blast out whatever is collecting inside its belly.
Her boots crunch on the stones and broken glass beneath her feet. A welp dives at her from straight ahead, and she lifts her leg, kicking off its torso as she jumps up to the furious mother dragon’s neck with surprising agility.
| (???) has used: [Meadow Spring] |
Her hands grab its lower jaw and its nostril as she wraps her legs around its neck, pulling the lashing creature’s head up towards the air and forcing its mouth open, releasing an uncontrolled blast of violently streaming fire into the air. The dragon roars, kicking and lashing, striking its head against the walls of the broken houses in an attempt to get her off. She slams against the brickwork, gritting her teeth through the pain, fighting against its movements by kicking off the walls herself.
“NOW!” yells the monk at the panicked wizard, who is still standing there, stuck between his group, which is trying to get him to leave, and the spell he already has prepared in his hands. She jumps down, pulling the dragon’s head with her, and rips its mouth open. The panicked wizard screams, throwing his spell through the night and straight towards them. A chaotic stream of arcane magic bullets fly forward and straight into the dragon’s exposed mouth and neck, tearing through its core from the soft, exposed insides.
The panicked adventurers yank their caster away as the spell fades, and they and the people of the carriage vanish off into the night. She tightens her grip as the dragon sputters and chokes, dozens of whelps around them screaming in rage as their matriarch is killed.
She looks at the small monster as the heavy neck in her grasp falls limp.
They slowly back away.
But not fast enough.
| (???) has used: [{04} Savannah Crush] |
The surrounded family runs away. The zombie’s body shudders as her fist breaks its ribcage, a wave of energy pulsing through its body at once, breaking all of its bones and causing it to fall down to the ground. With a sweeping kick, she knocks another two down and then jumps over them, clinging onto a statue that she clambers up with animal grace, before kicking off of it and grabbing hold of an open upper-story window of a house that she swings into.
She looks around the child’s bedroom, panting, and then runs to the window across the room to climb back out of it. Dolls and toys lie strewn over the floor and the furniture.
Grabbing hold of the window, she pulls it open and then looks down to the street on the house side of the house. She climbs out of the window and drops down, catching herself with a small roll over her shoulder.
People scream down the way, and she turns, running in their direction.
A group of city guards is surrounded, but they are holding their own with a circle of tower shields against a swarm of monsters.
She runs forward, jumping over rocks and rubble to move towards the group of men, their metal wall covered in deep, heavy scars and surrounded by heaps of dead monsters that more and more simply crawl over, in some areas bypassing the tower shields entirely by just dropping over them after ascending a staircase of corpses.
— A massive wooden support beam, easily hundreds of kilos in weight and the length of several men together, crashes through the mass. An explosion of dust and debris flies into the air as the defensive line quite literally explodes from the force of the impact. Monsters rush in, undeterred by the chaos that had mangled several of their own, and tear the men of the broken circle down to red stones. Fire spreads, eating away at the ring of houses around the plaza.
The monk turns her head, watching as her body shakes with slow, rhythmic pulses that she would mistake for the beat of her heart if not for the fact that she can see the vibrations being caused by the heavy, crushing steps of the dark giant.
The same one as before.
The screaming seems to be quiet to the both of them as it simply, slowly turns its head, looking towards her, its dented breastplate marred by her fist in their prior encounter, and lifts an arm, striking against itself as a hoarse exhalation rings out around the plaza. It's a deep, heavy exhalation that feels as if she could feel it on her face even at this distance.
She runs forward, the beads on her arms rattling as she plants a foot on a dead man’s chest and presses off of it, her fist raised as she lunges.
| (???) has used: [{07} River Impact] |
The woman flies through the air, the sharpness of her form cutting through the smoke and the ash; the streams of air traveling behind her fist that resemble flowing waters trailing behind her fist as she presses onward, striking at the monster who catches her hand. Its arm lurches back, its shoulder seemingly dislocating, but this isn’t betrayed by any hint of pain.
A quake of energy blasts out around them, the shockwave throwing monsters away into the night and rolling corpses off into the flames that burn abundant all around them, forming the arena of their duel as they take light, the dense fats of their bodies burning hotly.
“What are you?” she asks, glaring into the helmet of the man as the ripple moves through his body from his arm through to his chest, shaking his form into something inconsistent, that then returns to the form of a man once the energy dissipates.
His chest heaves as he breathes, his strange, acidic breath pressing against her like a summer storm as the metal of his helmet touches that of his breastplate as he looks down to meet her gaze. “Strong,” is all that he replies with.
His hand clamps down over her fist, and he flings her to the side. She hurtles through the air, tumbling over the stones and then catching herself, sliding as she meets the edge of the flames around them. They lick her skin, the orange and red tendrils rising up to meet her hair of the same color, as if they were seeking their brethren.
— The monk jumps forward, returning to the fight, her fist crashing into his leg, the limb unnaturally breaking off and flying backwards, connected by a sickly, wet tendril of slime to the rest of the body that glitters in the light of the encroaching flames. But instead of losing his balance, the giant simply crashes his hand down over her shoulder, striking down into the space between her neck and her shoulder with a bundled fist. Wood rattles as she just barely catches it, blocking it with her wrist, bent up over her shoulder.
Grabbing his wrist, she twists it, instinctively trying to throw the man onto his side as she would do with any armored opponent. A heavily armored enemy’s greatest weakness is their footing. If they lose it, they’re at a significant disadvantage.
Of course, this muscle memory proves useless.
The man’s wrist simply twists for as far as she can turn it without any further problems.
— A heavy hand grabs the back of her head, wrapping its fingers around her head, and then slams her down toward the stones.
| (???) has used: [Meadow Spring] |
Her boot presses off of his chest, kicking off of his body. His chestplate, held together by an inconsistent force, gives way. His arm, unable to resist tension, pulls out of its socket as she yanks on it, flying forward gracelessly from the power of the ability, skidding over the stones and the rubble, bloodying her face and arms as she rolls. Her bent knee lands in a row of brightly burning flames, fueled by the melting fat of a heap of corpses, and she screams, pulling herself out of it after a moment of panicked daze.
Panting, she rises to her feet, wincing and looking down at the gauntlet in her arm and then at the blackened spot on her leg, where the fabric of her robes has burned away, the bone of her knee-cap becoming indistinctly visible.
— Wet dribbles out of the metal glove, dripping down to the stones like blood.
It drips the stones and then, puddling, begins to flow like a serpent away from her and back towards the monster in the armor, returning to become a part of the whole once again.
She looks down at the empty gauntlet and then at the monster before tossing it to the side.
Apart from the one gauntlet, the giant pulls itself fully back together, its legs and chest back in place, its legs restored and from the missing arm comes out a lashing, slimy tendril. The appendage extends outwardly, far longer than its other arm.
Without emotion, without light in its eyes, without the grace of anything akin to the love of a god, it lurches forward towards her — unrelenting, like a monster from a nightmare that never stops its pursuit until the dreamer awakes upon being caught.
She moves forward, getting ready to return to the fight for another round. But she winces, falling over as her knee fails from its injuries. The monk catches herself on her palms, crawling like an animal for a step, and then jumps forward with her other leg instead.
In her old life, she was a dungeon killer, a member of an extermination team.
It was her job to go to the new-born dungeons of the world and to eliminate them if they were incompatible with humanity. In pure theory, this magic phrase meant ensuring that they were safe for society to be around. But in reality, it meant that she was simply tasked with destroying the dungeons that couldn’t be easily milked for profit by the powers that be in the world, as if they were beasts trapped in a horrific farm.
In her life before that one, she was a monk.
She trained day in and day out for years to become someone strong, someone capable of protecting the world through the sheer advanced mastery of her own heart, body, and soul, using those as powers to tighten and strengthen her form beyond human norms.
Strong. It’s a good word, isn’t it? It’s a good feeling to be strong — to have strength to use.
She became strong.
The woman’s fist collides with the giant’s remaining armored hand, which had also formed the same violent shape as hers, sending ripples through both of their bodies as their forceful impacts meet one another. Something cracks deep inside her elbow. Her arm is broken.
— The monster’s tendril slaps against her from the side, sharply whipping against her side. She flies to the side, falling over her bad leg as something wet and acidic burns on the skin of her neck.
But in that old life as a dungeon exterminator, did she ever really help a single person?
She jumps forward again.
Why, when she was so strong, was she sent to fight unimportant low-level dungeon-cores of all things? Why wasn’t she sent to fight witches? Why wasn’t she sent to fight the real, true monsters of this world? Why wasn’t she sent to hunt the horrific, gnashing teeth in the endless night of the soulless oblivion that exists within this world? The monsters that walk amongst men, without the lights of fire in their hearts and souls?
— The giant’s eyes glint in the midnight that she shares with it as they both lose their footing. She lands on her bad leg, wincing and stumbling back, falling.
The woman gets up again, bracing herself, and then returns to her fighting posture.
Why did she waste the fruits of her soul just to help a few people become richer than they already were? Why did she waste that beautiful gift of life and strength she was given? The spring of her existence, as Isaiah would call it? She can’t explain her past. Despite her training and her expertise, even she was susceptible to the trap of fate — simply falling into place somewhere in the world and accepting that as her life without questioning it any deeper.
It was only through the entity, Isaiah, that she even came to realize the road she was on. She, unlike her colleagues from the extermination team, was the only one spared from ending up where it led.
The monk leaps forward again, fire burning in her spirit brighter than the flames of the city around them, and the giant comes barreling straight at her, the radiant glow of haunting moonlight locked in its eyes.
The human spirit isn’t something that should be wasted on idle existence. It’s too precious. It burns too hot and goes out too quickly.
The fire of the soul burns so brightly, with so much radiance and heat, that to simply let that flow off into the endless night, rather than allowing it to warm the hearts and lives of those around oneself is such a waste that it is perhaps the greatest tragedy that could take place within life. To be cold, to be empty, to be without love, faith, and passion, to live without the spark of joyous passion for existence in one’s eyes, is to be separate from the true purpose of life.
— To shine brightly and warm those around oneself, before the fuel runs out.
She lifts her non-dominant arm, wood rattling in her ears, proof of the devotion to her principles and soul as she lunges towards the monster that comes to meet her in the middle. Her hair flies through the air like wildfire.
Strong.
If not then, at least now, if only just for a little while — she burned strongly.
Gods bless Isaiah.
— Her body flies out of its trajectory as something crashes into her. The heavy gauntlet strikes against Orange’s back, the monk’s fist into her front as the uthra dives into the attacks. She and the uthra fly off, gracelessly tumbling over stones, rubble, and one another, her body being tightly held as they roll.
The two of them come to a stop.
Dazed, she looks at the uthra, trying to orient herself. She herself is lying down on the ground. Orange is lying over her. Visible behind the uthra is a broken, crooked wing, rising and falling with the short, raspy breaths that come from a source held beneath broken ribs. The monk grabs the uthra, pushing her up.
“Are you okay?!” she asks. “Why are you here?!” asks the woman, staring up at the dirty, crying face that has an ugly expression and a quivering lip. Droplets fall down onto her face, separate from the rain.
“B- Because you’re here!” yells Orange, flailing and howling out of the woman’s grasp, hitting her repeatedly, a burning shine of fire reflected in her wet eyes. She tries to fly up into the air, but her left wing is broken. “You’re my only friend!” cries the uthra.
Heavy boots shake the ground as the giant stomps toward them, coming closer and closer. She looks past Orange, seeing the giant raise a hand into the air, holding a heavy piece of rubble in it.
The monk, holding Orange’s shoulder, uses her good leg to flip them over so that she herself is on top. The uthra screams as she lands on her hurt wing, the monk laying over her on her hurt chest.
She closes her eyes as the stone comes down.
Razmatazz
Stands behind you menacingly with a cliffhanger
