Re: Rebirth and Return [All are welcome!]
Posted: Sun Jun 13, 2021 8:00 pm
There was still so much to be done. Victory, winning, even surviving, had a note of completion to it. A task set and accomplished, no matter how many moving parts and factors. This seemed like... a moment cut short. Half the story ripped out the book, pages burned and reader gruffly told that was all they'd be getting. And they should be happy to have got so far.
Kasoria was not happy. Not with any of it. Not even with his High Marshal.
Peace and reconciliation was what echoed off stone and sand and bloodied corpses and panting survivors. Silence had been replaced by the booming words of the human leader of the city, now remembered after the mutant creature had vanished. Kasoria barely paid attention to her last hissed threats, about plagues of insects and the end of her children's aid. The Raggedy Man hadn't even the energy to shrug.
Fine. Fair trade. We lose a spider cunt and her brats, and have to deal with more flies and beetles. Good deal.
But then, came the calls to surrender. Lay down arms and submit, for only in that way could forgiveness be earned. Kasoria's ears pricked at that, black eyes flashing around him as the handful of Sintraists weighed their options. Even this fanatic crew could see there was nothing to be gained through further conflict... but there were always exceptions. Some whose loyalty or madness ran too deep, whose shame in failure would never permit them to surrender. Around him, weapons clattered to the ground. Shuffling knees followed. But one figure refused to. She looked around, this tall and lean-built woman, a spiked club in one of her hands. Her eyes were wide with horror that her friends, her fellow believers, were now throwing in the towel.
"What are you doing?! Get up! Rise! We can still-"
The sound of a sword punching through flesh, muscle, and bone was so singular it seemed to echo around the Arena. The woman looked down and saw the length of red steel punching out from her chest. Black arterial blood mingling with it. She tried to draw in a breath and knives tore at her throat, pain lanced through her breast. When the unseen figure yanked it free from her, she toppled forwards. Her weapon left her dead fingers; her eyes were swimming with confusion, with fear, with... loss.
"Mis... mis..." She reached out for the empty stage where once her deity had reigned and-
THUNK
Kasoria's second swipe took her head off at the neck. The blonde ball rolled half a way, and then came to a swaying stop. Kasoria looked around, and was satisfied his message had been sent. They all knew him. They knew which way he would prefer. His black, blazing eyes seemed to beg those few fanatics left to try something, fight back, go down swinging. For all the good it would do them. He saw eyes dart between him and Parhn. The two futures available to them. Submit and live (and, he was certain many though, rise again some treacherous day), or fight and... and...
Aye. Me.
No-one else did. Kasoria snorted in disgust, and turned back to Oberan.
“Kas.”
"Lookin' proper fucked there, boy."
The trickster, the conman, the rogue and... and the inhuman, gave him a dry laugh and a watery smile. His voice was as fuzzy as his gaze, each breath coming out ragged and low. He was in no mood for a chase, a hunt, a slog through miles of sewer. Looking down at himself, Kasoria knew he wasn't, either. Oberan's magic hadn't healed him, it had simply pushed his body past what it would normally be capable of... and for someone like Kasoria, that was something skirting human. More of his clothes were torn and bloody than whole; he could feel deep slices in his flesh that almost nicked muscles and tendon. More than that, he was leaving blood in dribs and drabs wherever he walked... and he had been fighting for quite a while.
"You can feel it, can’t you? Not much time left. Better find a spot to have a lie down, else you’ll collapse where you stand. My power’s got a price, and unfortunately the bill’s due right now. Nothing I can do about that, except postpone and make it worse.”
As he faded from waking, and commanding, so did Kasoria feel the inhuman vitality ebb away. The pain crept back by inches, patient, not hurrying. He allowed himself to sink to his knees, not taking his eyes off the Mortalborn. That made two of them, he realized. Two sons of abominations that he'd stayed his hand from ending. Shadow Slayer felt heavy in his grip for a moment. One slice. One stab. One thrust. With Oberan as languid and half-awake as he was, it would be no trouble, and his endless vendetta, it would-
Be what?
“You won’t be able to move for a while, I don’t think. I made your body push itself far past your limits, it’ll need time to recover. Not going to be … pleasant… Best to sleep … through it as much you can… Take advantage of the pain still being dulled… hard to fall asleep when… it returns… all at…. once…”
Kasoria sighed at the same time as Oberan did... only his next sucking of breath came through his teeth. Fucking freak wasn't kidding. Everything was hurting now; his body was a potato tossed into slowly boiling water, and only now was the rising temperature becoming apparent. His flesh started to itch and burn and ache and it went down, down into his bones and guts before he could shakily exhale. Every cut and slice and bruise crowded his nervous system at once. A lifetime of hard, savage, merciless living was all that stopped him from passing out as a battle's worth of agony ripped into him at once.
As gently as he could manage, Kasoria fell backwards. Sword still gripped. Teeth ground tight. Oberan's voice was vanishing and not... not just because he was passing out along with him. Fates, but he felt tired. No more energy or magic to stave off the feeling, either. His Sparks were as tired as he, and they curled up within his soul to slumber and not be awakened for quite a while. Soon it was just him, age and weakness and wounds and bitterness, laying there among the dead and dying and miraculously alive.
We did it. She's gone.
He snorted. Nothing had been accomplished. Her masque was ruined but she was not dead, and cunts like her held grudges longer than empires lasted.
Aye. But she won't be back for a while, and we're wise to her now. You did what you could.
He made a gurgling sound that should have been a growl, but there was too much blood to sound proper. So he settled for swallowing half and spitting the rest. He was sure he heard his name being muttered, then shouted, but the Arena... Fates, but it seemed so far away now. The sands were cooling and they felt so wonderful on his skin. They seemed to lull him to peace, to stillness, and when he closed his eyes...
Martyn won't fight for her.
The thought darted through his mind, quick as an eel through brackish water. But it made him smile.
She'll be no master of Etzos, grinding her people into dust.
Shadows fell over him. He could barely make it out but he knew they were there. His hand gripped his sword tighter. Something pulled at it... but he wouldn't let go.
You did what you could, old man. To the end.
A shadow grew within the shadow. Under his eyes and within his mind. Watching with a cocked head and a patient expression, though he could not see its face. Kasoria chuckled but no sound came from his lips. He was still, a quiet, and tired. He let the worries of the waking world slip away, and let the painless darkness cover him.
Kasoria was not happy. Not with any of it. Not even with his High Marshal.
Peace and reconciliation was what echoed off stone and sand and bloodied corpses and panting survivors. Silence had been replaced by the booming words of the human leader of the city, now remembered after the mutant creature had vanished. Kasoria barely paid attention to her last hissed threats, about plagues of insects and the end of her children's aid. The Raggedy Man hadn't even the energy to shrug.
Fine. Fair trade. We lose a spider cunt and her brats, and have to deal with more flies and beetles. Good deal.
But then, came the calls to surrender. Lay down arms and submit, for only in that way could forgiveness be earned. Kasoria's ears pricked at that, black eyes flashing around him as the handful of Sintraists weighed their options. Even this fanatic crew could see there was nothing to be gained through further conflict... but there were always exceptions. Some whose loyalty or madness ran too deep, whose shame in failure would never permit them to surrender. Around him, weapons clattered to the ground. Shuffling knees followed. But one figure refused to. She looked around, this tall and lean-built woman, a spiked club in one of her hands. Her eyes were wide with horror that her friends, her fellow believers, were now throwing in the towel.
"What are you doing?! Get up! Rise! We can still-"
The sound of a sword punching through flesh, muscle, and bone was so singular it seemed to echo around the Arena. The woman looked down and saw the length of red steel punching out from her chest. Black arterial blood mingling with it. She tried to draw in a breath and knives tore at her throat, pain lanced through her breast. When the unseen figure yanked it free from her, she toppled forwards. Her weapon left her dead fingers; her eyes were swimming with confusion, with fear, with... loss.
"Mis... mis..." She reached out for the empty stage where once her deity had reigned and-
THUNK
Kasoria's second swipe took her head off at the neck. The blonde ball rolled half a way, and then came to a swaying stop. Kasoria looked around, and was satisfied his message had been sent. They all knew him. They knew which way he would prefer. His black, blazing eyes seemed to beg those few fanatics left to try something, fight back, go down swinging. For all the good it would do them. He saw eyes dart between him and Parhn. The two futures available to them. Submit and live (and, he was certain many though, rise again some treacherous day), or fight and... and...
Aye. Me.
No-one else did. Kasoria snorted in disgust, and turned back to Oberan.
“Kas.”
"Lookin' proper fucked there, boy."
The trickster, the conman, the rogue and... and the inhuman, gave him a dry laugh and a watery smile. His voice was as fuzzy as his gaze, each breath coming out ragged and low. He was in no mood for a chase, a hunt, a slog through miles of sewer. Looking down at himself, Kasoria knew he wasn't, either. Oberan's magic hadn't healed him, it had simply pushed his body past what it would normally be capable of... and for someone like Kasoria, that was something skirting human. More of his clothes were torn and bloody than whole; he could feel deep slices in his flesh that almost nicked muscles and tendon. More than that, he was leaving blood in dribs and drabs wherever he walked... and he had been fighting for quite a while.
"You can feel it, can’t you? Not much time left. Better find a spot to have a lie down, else you’ll collapse where you stand. My power’s got a price, and unfortunately the bill’s due right now. Nothing I can do about that, except postpone and make it worse.”
As he faded from waking, and commanding, so did Kasoria feel the inhuman vitality ebb away. The pain crept back by inches, patient, not hurrying. He allowed himself to sink to his knees, not taking his eyes off the Mortalborn. That made two of them, he realized. Two sons of abominations that he'd stayed his hand from ending. Shadow Slayer felt heavy in his grip for a moment. One slice. One stab. One thrust. With Oberan as languid and half-awake as he was, it would be no trouble, and his endless vendetta, it would-
Be what?
“You won’t be able to move for a while, I don’t think. I made your body push itself far past your limits, it’ll need time to recover. Not going to be … pleasant… Best to sleep … through it as much you can… Take advantage of the pain still being dulled… hard to fall asleep when… it returns… all at…. once…”
Kasoria sighed at the same time as Oberan did... only his next sucking of breath came through his teeth. Fucking freak wasn't kidding. Everything was hurting now; his body was a potato tossed into slowly boiling water, and only now was the rising temperature becoming apparent. His flesh started to itch and burn and ache and it went down, down into his bones and guts before he could shakily exhale. Every cut and slice and bruise crowded his nervous system at once. A lifetime of hard, savage, merciless living was all that stopped him from passing out as a battle's worth of agony ripped into him at once.
As gently as he could manage, Kasoria fell backwards. Sword still gripped. Teeth ground tight. Oberan's voice was vanishing and not... not just because he was passing out along with him. Fates, but he felt tired. No more energy or magic to stave off the feeling, either. His Sparks were as tired as he, and they curled up within his soul to slumber and not be awakened for quite a while. Soon it was just him, age and weakness and wounds and bitterness, laying there among the dead and dying and miraculously alive.
We did it. She's gone.
He snorted. Nothing had been accomplished. Her masque was ruined but she was not dead, and cunts like her held grudges longer than empires lasted.
Aye. But she won't be back for a while, and we're wise to her now. You did what you could.
He made a gurgling sound that should have been a growl, but there was too much blood to sound proper. So he settled for swallowing half and spitting the rest. He was sure he heard his name being muttered, then shouted, but the Arena... Fates, but it seemed so far away now. The sands were cooling and they felt so wonderful on his skin. They seemed to lull him to peace, to stillness, and when he closed his eyes...
Martyn won't fight for her.
The thought darted through his mind, quick as an eel through brackish water. But it made him smile.
She'll be no master of Etzos, grinding her people into dust.
Shadows fell over him. He could barely make it out but he knew they were there. His hand gripped his sword tighter. Something pulled at it... but he wouldn't let go.
You did what you could, old man. To the end.
A shadow grew within the shadow. Under his eyes and within his mind. Watching with a cocked head and a patient expression, though he could not see its face. Kasoria chuckled but no sound came from his lips. He was still, a quiet, and tired. He let the worries of the waking world slip away, and let the painless darkness cover him.