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Zephyrial -> RE: The Hallows Inn (1/21/2015 1:53:08)
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The time had come.
An aura of impending doom had settled over the town, a miasma of gloom that waxed fearsome at the Northern gate, where the rag-tag band of wanderers stood ready to receive the Nazha. As soon as he arrived, Kenet proceeded to Lock's side, mindful of the promise that he had made. In a vain attempt to lighten the mood, he clapped the other man on the shoulder with the utmost delicacy, and spouted some half-hearted joke - something about 'being ready to swat some flies'. The awkwardness of it caused him to turn away, and he once again became reticent, staring warily into the forest. Could this place, which already seemed filled with monsters and mysteries, hold the answers he sought...? Either way, the Nazha stood in his path, and he hardened his heart against them. Demons or no, he would tear them to shreds.
He did not have to wait long for his first glimpse of his enemy. Like a scene from some baroque opera, the Nazha melted out of the dark woods, astride midnight steeds more substantial and yet substantially more terrible than those the undead rode into battle, and with a howl that chilled the bones. Galvanising the defenders into action, the mysterious Toren leapt into battle with a beserker's blind courage, prompting the leader of the hooded monsters to call out...
"Kerall! There will be no more running for you this time! Your betrayal will be met with execution!"
...and his words left nothing to the imagination, even without the grotesque transformation the once rugged ranger had undergone - without a doubt, Toren was a devil himself, locked in open rebellion against some gruesome dark lord. Strangely, Kenet felt some sort of kinship with him now; somehow or another, they were both trying to come to terms with the darkness inside of them. He was glad that they were set to mutually benefit from this fight; still, perhaps later the two of them would have to have a little talk...
Cautious to a fault, Kenet initially hung back, observing the tide of the battle. His allies displayed impressive temperaments, and those who lacked strength compensated with raw courage, as they met the blades of the airborne demons with prodigious moxie. He was thankful to see that the two women - enemies at the table, but sisters on the battlefield - had taken the initiative and moved to stop the two Nazha headed for the Inn, leaving the rest for them to mop up. For a while, he watched. Eventually, however, as the Nazha demonstrated their incredible feats of strength and arcane mastery, he felt the bloodlust begin to rise within him. The urge to fight, to kill, to use his massive strength to crush his opponents into dust! Gradually, forgetting Lock entirely, he began to fixate upon one particular Nazha, likewise hanging back. He took a step towards the creature... slowly... menacingly. He almost imagined that the Nazha's hellish visage betrayed a trace of fear, as if he was already known to it...
That was enough. Pushing off on one heel, Kenet broke into a dead sprint, speeding towards the Nazha with terrible intent. Caught off guard, the creature barely had time to leap out of the way before Kenet's arm scythed the air below it in a wild haymaker, the clumsiness of the move belying it's incredible power. Descending slowly to the ground, as if weightless, the Nazha snarled wordlessly at him, before drawing a long, saw-toothed blade out of the folds of its voluminous cloak. Aiming the weapon at his heart, it lunged with incredible speed... but Kenet merely batted the blade away, as if it were a twig rather than a wicked edge. Although he received no injury, the blade still shredded the folds of his sleeve, revealing for a moment the skin underneath - horrible, wondrous skin. For the first time in many, many years, Kenet's unholy flesh was revealed to all the world: silvery, unnaturally rounded, with a sickly aura. His cover was blown, but Kenet didn't care. In his mind, he was confronting the mysteries of his past - fighting his own darkness personified in these cloaked nightmares.
Staring deep into the Nazha's eyes, he flashed a wicked grin and a manic stare. "You think you are the only monsters around here!?"
CRACK.
Perhaps the creature knew of his movements before he made them. Perhaps not. In these first, frenzied moments of battle, however, the Nazha seemed unable to resist his momentum. With a sickening crack, Kenet's fist plunged into the Nazha's cloak, coming into contact with flesh of indeterminate composition. Like an arrow through tissue paper, it gave way without protest, disintegrating the upper part of the Nazha's right shoulder. With a roar of fury and anguish, the Nazha momentarily surprised him, leaping over his head in a storm of shadow, and - switching its sword to its off-hand faster than an eyeblink - delivering a grazing slash across Kenet's back, from hip to shoulder. Robbed of its support, his poncho gave up it's long struggle, and his already-torn shirt fell away to hang loosely around his waist, revealing Kenet's upper body completely. Beneath the cloth, a delicate wound, barely visible, traced a path from left to right along his skin. It oozed red blood, and in contrast with his skin, gave him the look of a corpse.
Drawing its good hand close to its chest, the Nazha thrust out, propelling a huge virl of swirling smoke directly towards him. As it passed, grass died - but Kenet, striding forward, dashed it harmlessly away. Finally, the madness faded from the scene, and Kenet once again became aware of himself and his surroundings. The two combatants caught their breath - or whatever the Nazha called breathing - examining their wounds and surveying their opponent. Sweat dripped down Kenet's temple, and he wiped it away, taking with it the layer of grime that had masked him for so long. His body was exposed for all to see - at once seemingly emaciated and muscled, as if drawn by a painter missing his eyeglasses. Looking around him, Kenet observed his comrades and their battles, and the staring eyes of those townsfolk brave enough to chance a peek from between their tattered curtains.
There are going to be a lot of questions to be answered...
...But first, the fight. Kenet's element of surprise gone, the Nazha could finally employ all its most devilish arts - and, cradling its arm indignantly, it seemed willing to do so. Both knew that the other could be harmed. All that lay before them... was death.
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