His slide brought him close enough to the soldier to attack, dauntlessly taking a swing. The soldier reacted accordingly, blocking Raphael's strike with his own blade. The two blades scraped against one another, emitting that sharp sound of steel across steel, the classic sound of battle.
Raphael quickly rose to his feet, beginning to exchange blows with the soldier. Doing battle with a single arm was rather cumbersome, Raphael having to rely more on fancy footwork. The prince bobbed and weaved through the soldier's attacks, slowly granting this soldier a death by a thousand cuts rather than by a single, defining blow.
Yet even greater threat to him than these minor cuts he received, Raphael found his sword locked. He had taken a swing at the soldier, who read this blow incoming and took a defensive stance. The soldier reaped the benefits of Raphael's one-armed disadvantage, catching Raphael's attack in his cross-guard, pulling the blades towards him, then fastened his hand safely upon the strong flat of Raphael's blade. The soldier then swiftly launched an elbow at Raphael's face, the links in his chainmail-coated arm enhancing the devastation and pain.
Despite being struck in an agonized daze, Raphael refused to let his sword go. The soldier then strongly plunged his right foot forward, his steel sabaton bashing straight into Raphael's sternum. This forced Raphael backwards and off balance, an act which deprived him of his blade. Rendered out-of-sorts from the elbow, Raphael stumbled onto the ground.
The soldier was more than ready to deliver a deathblow unto Raphael, yet something robbed his attention. From the shadowy smokescreen did a person appear, the dark-robed young man named Daevarro. He belligerently charged towards the soldier as if a finale, wielding his dagger up and in an ice-pick grip.
The soldier was not amused by Daevarro's rather absurd attack, his face a sneer as though his intelligence had been insulted. His attack upon Raphael postponed, forced to deal with this barbaric idiot. With Raphael's blade pinned beneath his right arm, the soldier raised his left hand towards Daevarro.
The spellsword shot a ball of fire through Daevarro, yet this fool was revealed it to be nothing more than an illusion. The shadows scattered into the wind, dissolving and becoming one with the air like a drop of ink into water. The soldier was utter spellbound by the act, his once annoyed face pulling apart to reveal his shock. Yet then he found his front-left side enveloped in the light of a fire, forcing him to coil up to protect himself.
A fireball found him this time, its dangerous flames and heat biting into his arms. The fire melting his armour and chewed into his skin, causing his teeth to clamp down rather intensely. Smoke pouring out from his arms, a cloud which funneled the sickening smell of his own charred flesh into his nostrils. A series of first and second degree burns left behind, appearing in a tear-like pattern. The cool winds of the ocean only furthered his plight, stealing his breath away.
A drop of sweat rolled down his brow as he contemplated his options, not expecting a magic user to be among the invading fold. But he misplaced his mind, forgetting of the soul he once attended to. Raphael, in a desperate state, reached for his waist, grappling upon the grip of a side arm. He then suddenly leapt from the floor, ripping out the stiff-bladed dagger from its small sheath. He rushed the currently distracted spellsword soldier, plunging his dagger into the soldier's abdomen as he tackled him into the ground.
The soldier's back slammed into the wood below hard, feeling as Raphael's weight crashed down upon his torso. Wielding that dagger now in a reverse grip, Raphael then urgently drove it downwards, aiming now for the soldier's face. The soldier quickly freed up his hands, taking hold of Raphael's wrist as the dagger descended upon him.
Yet there was a change in the silver-haired invader, for his irises shone a vivid, striking purple. His godly powers enabled by his great distress, granting him the power to easily overwhelm his opponent's strength and bury his dagger into his face.
Raphael's dagger impaled the soldier right between the eyes, but this was but a drop in the bucket. He then went berserk upon the soldier's face, unloading an unimaginably gruesome series of stabs. His eyes wild and deprived of their usual composure, his brows down to the top of his nose bridge, his teeth furiously bare to the gums. He ferociously bore his dagger repeatedly into the soldier's skull, stopping only when there was no motion remaining.
All the soldier could do was scream, a bone-chilling sound which still did not stay Raphael's bloodlust. His dagger like the trowel of a mad gardener, digging up fresh holes everywhere in the fleshy soil of the man's face. Just like dirt tossed from a wildly digging shovel, blood flew far and high, splattering all over Raphael's face, torso, and arms.
After a countless number of stabs, the soldier's chest finally stilled. What was left of his face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess, a destroyed space of cracked bone and torn, drooping flesh. Lamia tilted her head curiously as she watched Raphael pry his dagger from the mangled remains of the man's face, panting heavily as he came to grips with his fatigue and ruthless assault.
Raphael slowly rose up to his feet, his glowing eyes fixated upon the victim of his brutal attack. It began to sink in, further and further, deeper and deeper. A hard truth like a stone tossed into the waters of Raphael's heart, finding the reality behind this whole task as he tried to catch his runaway heart and breath.
The prince grew deaf to the clamorous language of battle. The clash of weaponry, just as this man, had grown dead. Raphael processed everything, pulled all of these faces together in his mind. No, there were no slavers, no gods at all, only humans and whatever the purpose there was for this facility.
As Raphael contemplated these thoughts, Daevarro himself emerged from the shadowy smoke. His hazel, subtly-glowing eyes finding Raphael just standing there over a butchered body, practically dripping with blood. "Are you all right?" Daevarro asked with worry, observing as Raphael's face wrestled around in discomfort
"I'm fine," he answered, calm and steady despite his enraged assault barely a minute ago. "Lift the smokescreen."
Acknowledging Raphael's command, Daevarro closed his eyes, calmly inhaling and exhaling. Like the breath from his lungs were a gust of wind, the shadowy smoke began to dissipate. All was revealed in that instant, everyone still alive, and this horrible, gruesome toll. Many bodies laid scattered across the platform, some friendly, but most were of those native to the platform.
Raphael's stoic purple irises scrupulously scanned this threshold, looking for any remaining signs of life. His vision nestled upon the back, seeing a small structure. He could make out then a figure of a person he did not recognize, realizing that there was at least one survivor. That survivor was the wizard Artuin, who had scurried his way to this structure like it were his sanctuary.
He froze cowardly halfway up the stairs, for he was now exposed. There was no one standing with him anymore, the eyes of only enemies found him now. This grim reality made his skin crawl, his legs urgently began working again, sprinting up the stairs. Everyone gave chase, yet those with Solasúian blood began to feel quite odd. The view of the water sparked a reaction, stiffening their legs.
Their eyes were glued to the deep blue. A thousand thoughts suddenly infiltrated their heads, all uncharacteristic fears of an endless sea, a bottomless depth, and drowning within its confines. They couldn't toss these thoughts away, and the more they resisted, the worse their symptoms would become. Their breath grew on the verge of hyperventilation, their eyes beginning to see in double-vision, their chests beginning to feel unusual heart palpitations.
Some were even driven to their knees, their foreheads feeling an enormous amount of pressure truly as though they were drowning. Every single human in the group looked back and watched as each of them succame to this anxiety. Almost every Lamian remaining rushed over to be at Libitina's side, calling out her title as they dashed. Calvin, Kereske, and Shakir joined them, running over to her with growing concern.
Malik rushed over to his pupil's side, finding him upon one knee, his sword dropped out of his hand, his right palm pressed into his face. "Raphael!" the old master shouted.
As the group attempted some way to deal with this debilitating ailment, Shinon and some of the Lamians proceeded to give chase. They rushed after Artuin, the wizard who found himself inside of a small room. A room buried in books, tables, and scriptures, all sorts of things you'd find in the crossbreed between a research room and a war room.
The wizard ransacked the room, hectically clearing papers off of the table to locate far more important pieces. Once he believed he had every paper he required, his body then turned to the southeastern corner of the room. He found a strange object there, something which he slowly approached.
Settled atop of a tall wrought iron stand, there laid an unusual ball of glass which possessed a seemingly very powerful magic within. Inside, large twin wisps of a bright, vivid blue light swam around with each other like fish in a pond. The wizard approached this ball, reaching his hands out and respectfully plucked it from its iron nest.
His amber eyes then turned to his right, his lips lifting with an overbearing, victorious grin. To dare push him, a brilliant wizard, into such a corner... In his mind, such an act can only be rewarded by revealing to them the superiority of his masterful craft. He stepped over to a large table right beside the orb without stress, feasting upon his ace-in-the-hole in its entirety.
It laid upon a long table, a beautifully crafted, fully-assembled set of plate armour, but it appeared like a suit made for a man two-times the size of the average knight. It was complete with a massive flanged mace and an imposing tower shield. The armour's material was a strange gray-blue, the product of a most exceptionally rare mineral referred to as runite.
At ease now, Artuin then planted his right palm upon this set's cuirass, closing his eyes and steadying his breath. He held that orb outwards in his other hand as if to separate it from his body. The wisps within this orb then began to flicker, the wizard siphoning their anima. He began channeling it into his palm, funneling it through his fingers, and allowing it to seep its way into the suit of armour.
The wizard's ears then caught a concerning sound to his right, quickly lifting his right hand to it. By his command, a massive gust of wind came rushing for the door, tossing paper up in the air in a dizzying whirlwind. The red-headed archer Shinon had found him, but alas, his opportunity was stolen from him. He was caught in the middle of this vicious gale, forcibly cast out from the building.
The space around Artuin began to radiate with an otherworldly light, the armour itself beginning to rumble. Suddenly, the massive, hulking suit of armour rose up entirely on its own, floating as though an invisible man resided within its cold interior. The suit sat there, prone to outbursts of turbulent convulsions, so the wizard had to make a quick adjustment to its magical structure in order to stabilize it.
With diligence, the episodes subsided to a degree, albeit its head or any one of its limbs were subject to a sporadic spasm occasionally. The armour then slowly removed itself from the table, its own two sabatons pounding into the floor below in a booming crash. Artuin gazed up at his creation in wonder, marveling in its splendor.
But then, at the corner of his eye, he detected movement. Artuin turned his gaze in that direction, finding that red-headed archer back in the doorway. Shinon stood there, utterly dumbfounded and clearly rethinking his decision of entering the room. He stuttered backwards, frightfully backpedaling in the face of this new threat.
Artuin let out a wide, frenzied smile, holding his hands up like a mad scientist. "Feast your eyes, dogs of Silas Alverra!" the wizard delightfully bellowed. "Behold your weakness! Your powerlessness! THIS is the
true
power of humankind!!"
Shinon had to quickly shake off his horror, nimbly drawing back an arrow. He then aimed straight for the mage, launching the arrow. But the armour blocked the shot with its terrifyingly-large tower shield, his arrow breaking on impact.
Having deployed his ultimate weapon, the mage assembled his next spell. He became enshrouded in a purple light, ascending from the ground and into a magical vortex, teleporting out of the area. He abandoned his newly animated suit of armour to the battle, a battle which he conceitedly believed was already won.
With the wizard no longer an obstacle, all there was to concern themselves with was this gigantic suit of unmanned armour. It soullessly turned in Shinon's direction, taking one slow, heavy step forward, shaking the floor beneath him. He stood there dumbstruck as the lumbering giant took another ground-quivering step, having absolutely no idea what to do. Its speed a deception, for it swung its mace at blinding velocity.
The red-headed archer hardly afforded the time to react, just barely managing to dodge its wide swing right. It smashed into the wall, effortlessly cutting through its timber flesh like it were air. The damage sustained to its construction was severe, collapsing it. The loud blast of wood was unexpected, startling to everyone on the platform.
Dust and debris was kicked into the air, but as it settled, a frankly jarred sight was revealed. This massive suit of armour just standing there, unfazed by the collapse despite being right in the thick of it. All kinds of wooden boards fell on it, even the ceiling had collapsed onto it. But there it was, poised and unopposed, wearing splinters of wood upon its pauldrons.
Everyone just froze in place, feeling an unbearably cold shiver crawl down their spine. Kereske, having been attending to Libitina, lifted up his head to the blaring crashing of wood, only to find this titan standing in the ruins. "What in this world..." he muttered under his shaken breath, completely baffled.
The suit of armour then slowly lifted its right sabaton over the fallen roof, beginning its walk towards the archer. Shinon just stared with shrunken pupils, having to take three steps back for every one step it took. One of the Lamians shyly managed to get to its back. He then lunged his stiff-bladed dagger into a small space between the armour's cuirass and gorget, actually having to leap off of the ground to reach it.
The dagger went right through, but the instant its tip touched the living armour's gorget, it snapped right off. The Lamian fell back to the ground, his eyelids pulled inside of his head as he looked upon the state of his dagger. Shattering for just so much as touching the armour, a happening which left him utterly flabbergasted.
That was when a truly blood-chilling moment occurred, the set of armour stopping in its place. Its upper body then turned in a complete one-eighty, leaving its lower body back around the other way. The armour then hulled its mace up above its helmet, an act which prompted another Lamian to jump up and latch onto its couter, trying to bring its main-hand down. But this act burdened the living armour like a leech, the Lamian's weight so minuscule that it impacted the armour none.
The armour's flanged mace then came crashing down, its motion fast and fluid like the falling of water. The Lamian just peered up as death descended upon him, horror taking full possession of his legs. His head like a smashed pumpkin as it was bludgeoned inwards, blood and bits of skull and brain gruesomely bursted out, splattering all over the soulless armour.
When the mace finally ceased, it was buried practically halfway down his throat. What was left was on the verge of a gory nothingness, severed, flaccid bits of flesh dangled over his shoulders like an inhumane ruff collar, chucks of brain matter and shards of his mangled skull slowly oozing down these hanging remains.
The armour then removed its weapon from the mutilated remains which just dropped to the floor, his death disturbingly brutal and instantaneous. The Lamian hanging from the armour's couter too wore the blood and fleshy bits of his brother, so emotionally and mentally distraught that his body was completely immobilized.
The armour's upper body then spun back around and carried on forward even with the Lamian being dragged along, heading directly for Shinon for his hostile act upon its master. The grief-stricken Lamian it dragged sought vengeance, climbing up to the armour's twitching pauldron, roaring with sorrowful rage as he repeatedly lunged his dagger into the space between its close helmet and gorget.
It then suddenly reached its gauntlet up that way, quickly and violently throwing him to the ground by his head. With the way he was thrown and the force behind it, the Lamian was rendered unconscious as a result. The armour continued walking in the midst of all of this, the Lamian he threw unfortunately now caught in the path of its thunderous steps.
The runite armour's right sabaton slammed down upon the Lamian's body, the full weight of its heavy step falling solely upon his chest. The Lamian's sternum and ribcage were crushed, sending their splintered remains into his most vital of organs. Like a red water balloon, his heart was punctured, spilling a torrent of blood into his chest cavity. The armour's sabaton finally removed from the Lamian, leaving his still, lifeless body behind like a bloody footprint.
