716 Cylus 10, continued from here...
With a roar, pale hands stretched up above her head, the thin fingers like claws in vague illumination of the few, scattered, dying bloodlights that had been tossed into the ally by passersby long since departed. The first sphere was joined by another, twisting into that same odd half-existence, flickering and jittering, the space within each warped and-
Aberration’s name suddenly made much more sense.
Knees bending and hands flexing, Mads squared his shoulders with the other woman. Though he didn’t understand enough about the cloying scent of the magic being used to properly counter it, it was evident enough as long as the spheres didn’t make contact with his body, he could continue studying them. It wasn’t the most efficient of plans, but he doubted closing the distance between them without being able to defend himself aside from ducking and weaving would pan out well for him.
That was, of course, under the assumption that spheres had to return to her.
As the two balls of light darted forward once more, their movements much more erratic than they had been at first, Mads let the half-rotted cane slip from his grip, sticking into the shallow snow below his feet with just the softest of hisses. Not only were their patterns more difficult to discern, they were much, much faster than before.
They whirled about him, their movements mirrored but unpredictable in their ever-shifting trajectories until the moment they dove toward him, one high the other low. It was too quick, and the best he could manage was to stumble backward, ether slipping from his fingertips as he felt the spark within him send an icy chill through the blood in his veins.
The barrier was only half-constructed before it shattered into nothingness; its structure was malformed by haste and he could feel the exact moment his spark had intentionally sabotaged his work. The betrayal was hardly something he could afford much thought as the spheres closed in; his replicated armor had already proved worthless against the abberants eerie projectiles, and he did what he could to brace himself for their impact, pulling his arms to his chest and sinking lower into his stance.
Just before the spheres made contact, the unmistakable scent of cold, unmoving marble washed over him as clear and crisp as the chilly Cylus morning winds. His bright grey eyes glittered with fascination as the watched the spheres collide with the Madam’s counter-spell, a shimmering spear that cut right through the magic itself, forcing the altered reality to accept the unchanging forces of Idalo’s natural order. The structures were only visible for a moment, their aetheric bodies as passing as the thought that gave them form, before they faded, leaving Mads unharmed.
“Thank you, Madam.”
“As agreed upon, Mads. That was your last assist.”
Neither student nor teacher sounded in the least bit ruffled by the close call, and the dark-haired aberrant let out a frustrated screech. “Feking shit-eating cock-sucking bugger-rooting fuckers!”
Both abrogants turned to stare at the thin stick of a woman with identical expressions of mild disdain; in unison, they spoke so clearly and in such well-timed synchronization it was difficult to tell one from the other. “Language.”
Whatever patience she might have had before broke apart. The same sickly-sweet scent of her contaminated ether drifted in the air like the fumes that rose from a rotting corpse, and Mads once more readied himself. This time, however, the ether that drifted from his fingertips began to drift around him in a loose, invisible fog. He had a much better idea of how to handle his opponent’s bizarre strain of magic, and, as the spheres twitched and twisted through the open air toward him, Mads began to move forward.
His boots squeaked quietly against the cold, icy cotton beneath him, but his focus was so placed upon the two greenish-gray blobs that bobbed like angry hornets before him, he hardly even noticed the sound. In the next moment, his ether erupted forth from him, and the ethereal fog hardened. Unlike a barrier, the spell itself was delicate – it was not designed to absorb a force so much as to shred through it. Where Graciana’s counter-spell had consisted of two ever-widening spikes, Mads’ ether spread out into an array of thin, needle-like protrusions that sailed through the air out in front of him in an arcing cone of concentrated force.
Rather than attempting to focus his ether into a singular strike, conserving his energy but welcoming the likely chance of missing his targets entirely, Mads chose a more liberal approach. Whether it was the most effective choice or not, though many of the needles missed their mark, shooting off into the air only to dissipate into nothingness, plenty enough tore through the spheres, threads of reality severing the unnatural command over whatever chaotic forces seemed to be at the woman’s tentative beck and call.
Unlike Graciana’s casually precise eradication of the spheres themselves, Mads’ spell served to hamper their moment and knock them far enough off course that both hurtled past him without incident. Setting aside several burgeoning critiques of both his choices and their execution, knowing full well that the damaged projectiles would no doubt be soon returning toward him, he continued forward, picking up speed as he broke out into a calm dash toward the aberrant.
With her spheres somewhat unresponsive and a good distance to travel before they would be close enough to aid her, the woman let out a guttural bellow – far louder than anything one might have expected her small frame to produce. Her body flickered, the edges of her skin seemingly shifting into and out of the same sickly grey-green colors as the spheres. What was more, the space around her seemed to change as well, the pale white of the fallen snow suddenly tinged with that same unnerving chartreuse, and… something seemed to shimmer just behind her; it was like a shadow, only it moved on its own and-
“Mads!”
Before he could slow his approach, he found himself sailing through the air, his foot catching on that same something as it leaped forward with an incredible speed. As he bounced off of the ground, snow scattering in all directions and his replicated armor shimmering for a moment as it absorbed the force of the impact, Mads felt something press down and around his neck from behind.
Without wasting any time, before whatever it was could manage a firm grip upon him, he bucked backward, and the back of his head slammed into something fleshy and solid. Again, his shields held, though several of the layers shattered under the strength of the blow. Winning himself a small window of opportunity, Mads pushed himself up and off of the ground, eyes still set on the woman – whatever was behind him hadn’t been there before and, in all likeliness, would disappear if he could just-
Blood – if that were even the right name for the dark, sticky substance that oozed out of the corners of the wide, hollow eyes before him – dripped down into the snow around her feet, falling at an alarmingly slow rate, as if it were a spoon passing through a particularly thick flan. He felt something clutch at his wrist, the sensation dulled by the remaining protective layers of his wards, but he was just close enough now.
With a soft grunt of effort, Mads yanked against the force that sought to restrain him, shifting his body and pouring his own weight into the wide, arcing strike of his fist. The girl made no effort to move out of the way, and his knuckles slammed into the side of her bleeding face. His final wards shattered, and for the briefest of moments, he felt the cold, leathery sensation of corpse flesh against the skin of his arm.
What little light had been in the girl’s eyes prior was knocked from her along with a soft, rattling sigh as she was sent careening away from the force of Mads’ well-aimed strike. Before she ever hit the ground, Mads immediately backed away, a stern frown on his lips as, with several hopping steps, he hastily retreated from her. The altered state she had created in a last-ditch effort at survival still remained – the snow fell slower, greener, and that same shimmering shadow, though no longer seemingly able to interact with the physical world seemed to stoop down over her.
“Mathias, get back!”
Graciana never used his name – not that name. Vaguely, he felt a slight chill from the spark within him, a gentle drain upon his ether. By pure novelty alone, Mads responded to her command as best he was able, continuing to backpedal his retreat while keeping curious eyes on the scene unfolding before them.
The disturbing pocket of magic took a bitter, fetid turn in scent. The snow began to steam, the rocks to melt, and the girl’s body began to bubble as if the blood beneath her skin was boiling. The shadow seemed to rise, hazy as its details were, Mads couldn’t make out much more than its eyes: two perfectly round, pupilless spheres. They stared at him for what felt like an eternity before the girl let out a final, howling scream as her bubbling flesh erupted into a swarm of millions of little flies that dashed madly around the now shrinking sphere of warped reality.
Mads stared, transfixed by the macabre beauty of each of the flies bursting into ash, one by one, until there was nothing left but warped, wet stone. He felt Gracaina beside him, as her gaze swept over the alley’s end to verify the girl was indeed dead and nothing lingered. “What was that?” There was nothing but an even analytic tone in his voice. He didn’t need to pretend when it was just the two of them.
“An aberrant, darling.” There was a soft sigh in her voice, though if it were pity it was of a kind most indifferent. “They always seem to just be… filled with surprises.”
With a roar, pale hands stretched up above her head, the thin fingers like claws in vague illumination of the few, scattered, dying bloodlights that had been tossed into the ally by passersby long since departed. The first sphere was joined by another, twisting into that same odd half-existence, flickering and jittering, the space within each warped and-
Aberration’s name suddenly made much more sense.
Knees bending and hands flexing, Mads squared his shoulders with the other woman. Though he didn’t understand enough about the cloying scent of the magic being used to properly counter it, it was evident enough as long as the spheres didn’t make contact with his body, he could continue studying them. It wasn’t the most efficient of plans, but he doubted closing the distance between them without being able to defend himself aside from ducking and weaving would pan out well for him.
That was, of course, under the assumption that spheres had to return to her.
As the two balls of light darted forward once more, their movements much more erratic than they had been at first, Mads let the half-rotted cane slip from his grip, sticking into the shallow snow below his feet with just the softest of hisses. Not only were their patterns more difficult to discern, they were much, much faster than before.
They whirled about him, their movements mirrored but unpredictable in their ever-shifting trajectories until the moment they dove toward him, one high the other low. It was too quick, and the best he could manage was to stumble backward, ether slipping from his fingertips as he felt the spark within him send an icy chill through the blood in his veins.
The barrier was only half-constructed before it shattered into nothingness; its structure was malformed by haste and he could feel the exact moment his spark had intentionally sabotaged his work. The betrayal was hardly something he could afford much thought as the spheres closed in; his replicated armor had already proved worthless against the abberants eerie projectiles, and he did what he could to brace himself for their impact, pulling his arms to his chest and sinking lower into his stance.
Just before the spheres made contact, the unmistakable scent of cold, unmoving marble washed over him as clear and crisp as the chilly Cylus morning winds. His bright grey eyes glittered with fascination as the watched the spheres collide with the Madam’s counter-spell, a shimmering spear that cut right through the magic itself, forcing the altered reality to accept the unchanging forces of Idalo’s natural order. The structures were only visible for a moment, their aetheric bodies as passing as the thought that gave them form, before they faded, leaving Mads unharmed.
“Thank you, Madam.”
“As agreed upon, Mads. That was your last assist.”
Neither student nor teacher sounded in the least bit ruffled by the close call, and the dark-haired aberrant let out a frustrated screech. “Feking shit-eating cock-sucking bugger-rooting fuckers!”
Both abrogants turned to stare at the thin stick of a woman with identical expressions of mild disdain; in unison, they spoke so clearly and in such well-timed synchronization it was difficult to tell one from the other. “Language.”
Whatever patience she might have had before broke apart. The same sickly-sweet scent of her contaminated ether drifted in the air like the fumes that rose from a rotting corpse, and Mads once more readied himself. This time, however, the ether that drifted from his fingertips began to drift around him in a loose, invisible fog. He had a much better idea of how to handle his opponent’s bizarre strain of magic, and, as the spheres twitched and twisted through the open air toward him, Mads began to move forward.
His boots squeaked quietly against the cold, icy cotton beneath him, but his focus was so placed upon the two greenish-gray blobs that bobbed like angry hornets before him, he hardly even noticed the sound. In the next moment, his ether erupted forth from him, and the ethereal fog hardened. Unlike a barrier, the spell itself was delicate – it was not designed to absorb a force so much as to shred through it. Where Graciana’s counter-spell had consisted of two ever-widening spikes, Mads’ ether spread out into an array of thin, needle-like protrusions that sailed through the air out in front of him in an arcing cone of concentrated force.
Rather than attempting to focus his ether into a singular strike, conserving his energy but welcoming the likely chance of missing his targets entirely, Mads chose a more liberal approach. Whether it was the most effective choice or not, though many of the needles missed their mark, shooting off into the air only to dissipate into nothingness, plenty enough tore through the spheres, threads of reality severing the unnatural command over whatever chaotic forces seemed to be at the woman’s tentative beck and call.
Unlike Graciana’s casually precise eradication of the spheres themselves, Mads’ spell served to hamper their moment and knock them far enough off course that both hurtled past him without incident. Setting aside several burgeoning critiques of both his choices and their execution, knowing full well that the damaged projectiles would no doubt be soon returning toward him, he continued forward, picking up speed as he broke out into a calm dash toward the aberrant.
With her spheres somewhat unresponsive and a good distance to travel before they would be close enough to aid her, the woman let out a guttural bellow – far louder than anything one might have expected her small frame to produce. Her body flickered, the edges of her skin seemingly shifting into and out of the same sickly grey-green colors as the spheres. What was more, the space around her seemed to change as well, the pale white of the fallen snow suddenly tinged with that same unnerving chartreuse, and… something seemed to shimmer just behind her; it was like a shadow, only it moved on its own and-
“Mads!”
Before he could slow his approach, he found himself sailing through the air, his foot catching on that same something as it leaped forward with an incredible speed. As he bounced off of the ground, snow scattering in all directions and his replicated armor shimmering for a moment as it absorbed the force of the impact, Mads felt something press down and around his neck from behind.
Without wasting any time, before whatever it was could manage a firm grip upon him, he bucked backward, and the back of his head slammed into something fleshy and solid. Again, his shields held, though several of the layers shattered under the strength of the blow. Winning himself a small window of opportunity, Mads pushed himself up and off of the ground, eyes still set on the woman – whatever was behind him hadn’t been there before and, in all likeliness, would disappear if he could just-
Blood – if that were even the right name for the dark, sticky substance that oozed out of the corners of the wide, hollow eyes before him – dripped down into the snow around her feet, falling at an alarmingly slow rate, as if it were a spoon passing through a particularly thick flan. He felt something clutch at his wrist, the sensation dulled by the remaining protective layers of his wards, but he was just close enough now.
With a soft grunt of effort, Mads yanked against the force that sought to restrain him, shifting his body and pouring his own weight into the wide, arcing strike of his fist. The girl made no effort to move out of the way, and his knuckles slammed into the side of her bleeding face. His final wards shattered, and for the briefest of moments, he felt the cold, leathery sensation of corpse flesh against the skin of his arm.
What little light had been in the girl’s eyes prior was knocked from her along with a soft, rattling sigh as she was sent careening away from the force of Mads’ well-aimed strike. Before she ever hit the ground, Mads immediately backed away, a stern frown on his lips as, with several hopping steps, he hastily retreated from her. The altered state she had created in a last-ditch effort at survival still remained – the snow fell slower, greener, and that same shimmering shadow, though no longer seemingly able to interact with the physical world seemed to stoop down over her.
“Mathias, get back!”
Graciana never used his name – not that name. Vaguely, he felt a slight chill from the spark within him, a gentle drain upon his ether. By pure novelty alone, Mads responded to her command as best he was able, continuing to backpedal his retreat while keeping curious eyes on the scene unfolding before them.
The disturbing pocket of magic took a bitter, fetid turn in scent. The snow began to steam, the rocks to melt, and the girl’s body began to bubble as if the blood beneath her skin was boiling. The shadow seemed to rise, hazy as its details were, Mads couldn’t make out much more than its eyes: two perfectly round, pupilless spheres. They stared at him for what felt like an eternity before the girl let out a final, howling scream as her bubbling flesh erupted into a swarm of millions of little flies that dashed madly around the now shrinking sphere of warped reality.
Mads stared, transfixed by the macabre beauty of each of the flies bursting into ash, one by one, until there was nothing left but warped, wet stone. He felt Gracaina beside him, as her gaze swept over the alley’s end to verify the girl was indeed dead and nothing lingered. “What was that?” There was nothing but an even analytic tone in his voice. He didn’t need to pretend when it was just the two of them.
“An aberrant, darling.” There was a soft sigh in her voice, though if it were pity it was of a kind most indifferent. “They always seem to just be… filled with surprises.”
