04-06-2018, 05:59 AM
(This post was last modified: 04-10-2018, 10:29 AM by Dane Regan.)
The werewolf's skin was tough, and in a close-up brawl, he didn't have the time to charge up his stronger attack - and he wasn't going to risk anything too uncontrollable. Recognising that fact, and that he would be forced to close in by both the number of opponents and the limited space he had to fight restricting his attempts to evade, Dane dashed forwards quickly and unexpectedly. Impulses stronger than the beast-like entities he'd made his foes.
Steel glinted in the dim candlelight, with both of Dane's swords held in front of him crossed in an X. Just before he met the werewolf, he dodged to the side, twisting and sucking in his chest to evade the deadly slashing of claws. Running completely past, and ignoring the hulking mass of muscle and fur, mana charged throughout his leg. The snake on the other side of the room was coiled, swirling around and hissing as blood dripped from its wound. Poised-
Teeth, right thigh.
Its straightforward instinct-driven gaze made its target exceedingly obvious to Dane's mind, as such - ignoring the thudding of the werewolf behind him - he effortlessly hopped up into the air, flipping over its pounce. He twisted, stomping his foot sideways into the back of its head. There was a crack, followed by a slam sending Dane skidding past from the recoil as pain flared through his leg. The snake, however, was sent spiralling into the into the wolf-girl, glancing off her side and landing a few metres behind her. Dizzy, the serpent flopped around like a dead fish, slowly regaining its composure with the aid of the werewolf.
A temporary victory. He couldn't scratch the larger beast without putting himself in jeopardy, not without something changing. He was going to lose. Die. Both the creatures were strong, even with their wounds. He was merely lucky - said his subconscious. It was more amusing than he expected, being on the receiving end of such emotions. Initiating a fight he couldn't win. Expectations dashed... yet. He didn't care. So-fucking-what. Was he going to die? Would Clownpiece be sad, or maybe even cry for him? Pfft. Death was temporary here, and he hated that. Immortality wasn't sweet. It was lame. It sapped the life out of everything, ironically.
Where was the meaning to all this?
Where was it? What was it?
The answer: there wasn't one.
Life never had a meaning to him besides the one he gave it. And here, that had diminished. Mish-mashed memories previously belonging to Tearen were dispersed through the back of his mind, each giving a little insight into the foreign world. The eldritch being had found purchase in Diablo. A big bad evil guy who was apparently going to destroy everything.
It was short-sighted. Not so much as murdering random people for the fun of it, purposely manipulating the situation so his 'ideals' dictated it to be the logical action. But, let's say everyone won. They beat all the big bad guys. What then? Was there another one? Or would everything revert back to the usual monotonous slog of repetitive life and death?
Heh.
A philosophical debate.
That's what his mind jumped to upon his inevitable loss.
But... Dane didn't do losing. That just wasn't his thing - and people who brought dragons to fights were fucking cheating.
Then again, no shame in bringing a portable flamethrower, right?
Utilising the brief breather, the fleeting lull in combat, Dane swiftly pulled out his phone, firing Clownpiece a quick text before steadying both swords once again. Doing a little jig, he shuffled from foot to foot, rolling his wrists and lightly shaking his head, surprised at how little time had passed.
Instead of converging on him immediately, small black tendrils flashed over the snake's earlier wound, stitching it shut in seconds and throwing Dane out for a beat.
Well... Shit.
Can we teleport? Like before.
No. Even if we get one, the other will have a free shot.
So we stall?
I prefer to call it-
Claws, stomach.
Despite the werewolf looking defensive to his eyes, Dane jumped up, a seemingly random sense telling otherwise. The millisecond he did, fur-covered muscles clenched and rippled, claws splintering the wooden boards as the wolf pounced through the air, slashing claws amazingly fast.
That instinct potentially saved Dane's fake-life.
His feet met the wall behind him, where he twisted and ran along it for a small segment before kicking off and swinging both swords down to the side as a deterrent to his opponent. On the off chance it did jump up to meet him, he was ready. Although it never did. Yellow animalistic eyes pierced the flickering shadows, daring to cut him down, but the beast held still, unmoving.
Dane Regan. Master of running away.
Don't you know it, babe ~ ♥
Leather shoes skidded over the dusty wood. He landed on the ground behind the werewolf, pivoting acrobatically through the air. Tossing a sword up in the air, he clicked, sending a fake crackle of sparks at the snake. It hissed, snapping its mouth and swallowing the illusion. Catching his shortsword in a reverse grip with a clean swipe of his hurting wrist, he smirked, hearing his phone let out a distinctive 'ding'.
"Come on, ya big fluffy furball."
His hop-shuffled to one side, using the larger opponent as a physical wall against the other. Taunts met with a growl and a threatening slash of razor-sharp claws, Dane kept his distance, circling around and stopping the snake from ever reaching him.
As little as he cared for dying, natural movements still fueled his body. Years of practice, training, they couldn't be undone simply by a mental revelation. And, y'know, fighting was kinda fun usually. It'd be a shame to end it prematurely.
His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging, his mind harnessing the strange instincts from earlier to evade the claws before the wolf even swung. Turbulent air rushed past after each failed strike, rippling his clothes. Arms heavy, as if they were encased in lead, he hefted both blades, taking the full force of one swing and spinning around, landing his foot on the werewolf's jaw. Just a nuisance in the long term, but the sharp strike bought him the time to dodge back afterwards.
"Did someone call for back-up?!"
The telltale sound of his ally's chippy voice met his ears. Hopefully, he mused, the assistance wouldn't make everything too easy.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He'd been on the verge of dodging another set of claws from the wolf, cutting it much closer than usual in the hopes creating an opportunity for him to dodge past and free his trapped ally when everything flashed. His vision blurred. And then, suddenly, he was someplace else with the new girl being gored in his stead.
Incompetence.
Hissing, magic fired through his veins, feeling as if it was literally bubbling beneath his skin. Eyes flickering like they were connecting an invisible series of random dots, he kicked off the floorboards with a crack, leaving a splintering dispersal of dust and shattered chunks of wood in his wake. Swords ready, his afterimage shimmered in the air behind him, his movement a blur. In an instant, crisscrossing lacerations drove into the werewolf's side, drawing crimson as clumps of fur fluttered to the floor.
Before the beast even knew what happened, Dane's shortsword was piercing its calf, thrust all the way through and wedged into the ground. Pivoting around, his elbow met the front of its skull with a crunch, sending it sprawling back, sword tearing through more flesh.
He gritted his teeth, ignoring Myst's wounds, and simply fired the last of his dwindling mana reserves through his mind, accelerating its spacial awareness enough to execute a quick teleport, bringing him and the woman closer to the snake. The werewolf twisted, spittle spraying from its maw while it worked to free itself from the steel pin, black tendrils ready to stitch up the wound afterwards.
As... misguided as Myst's intervention was, she did give him an opening. Only one strike hit her securely, at least, with the others being much lighter blows. Nothing that would be fatal - for a prime.
Except she was limp. Completely dead in his arms. He let go, allowing her dead to fall to the floor with a thump.
That was stupid.
She'd really just killed herself? Just because it might have looked like he might have gotten hit.
Cannon fodder like that wasn't worth making friends or allies with - the former wouldn't work because they'd just die. The latter was impossible because they were useless.
Myst hadn't even been smart about it. Maybe, if she was a telepath, they might have been able to communicate about it first. But she'd just thrown herself under the bus.
It was a bit jarring, but Dane's frustration at the sheer irrationality of the action slowly shifter to a more humorous outlook. Similar to his opinion on the average overconfident person he thought. Maybe she expected it to all play out perfectly - like a storybook. Heck, maybe that would have happened if she'd swapped with Clownpiece - a fairy that currently needed help a lot more than her did - instead.
Now, the snake.
Keeping up his momentum, Dane held his longsword with both hands, sprinting and spinning towards the serpent. With keen enough senses to track the blur, it uncoiled, shifting and redirecting his strike towards Clownpiece.
The fairy barely had time to widen when the sword soared millimetres above her head, catching an odd strain of hair. Recovering quickly, Dane twisted it down into a stab, hacking it through the scales and driving the steel tip through three layers of coil. Ignoring his lost weapon, one of his hands shifted to tap the hellfairy on the shoulder, warping them both back to Cassandra's dead body.
"Stay here." Dane cracked his knuckles. Might as well use the flood of mana before it could subside, as reckless as it was, both opponents were vulnerable. With no weapons, his fists would do for now.
Clownpiece was about to protest, then took a few moments to look down at Cassy, interpreting his silent comment. He hadn't even needed his telepathy to get it across - she's dead, focus on the monsters.
"O-okay, Dane." She hesitated, clutching her torch tightly. "You can count on me!" After another pause, she swirled her torch, casting her spell upon Dane with a low growl. "It's Lunatic Time!"
Two layers of magic blended in Dane's body, complementing each other equally. He could only grin. He'd felt it before, but this time his own strength was able to match, his mind honed.
Fluffy the Disgruntled Furball stumbled, ripping out the shortsword with a sickening schlunck. Its leg healing almost instantly, eyes panning from Dane to the trapped serpent, blood dripped from its claws. Tapping the floor with one arm and kicking a leg, telegraphing its charge, it swung one set of claws through the air threateningly, spraying red droplets like a leaky tap dripping water.
Undeterred, Dane walked towards it, arms ready, even more energy flowing through them. Crackling.
Come at me, bro.
It leapt, and on a fleeting whim, Dane immediately dispelled his planned attack to teleport behind it, his forearm wrapped around its neck. In perfect sync, ten of Clownpiece's sharp stars stabbed into its chest, fired from another of her spells. Twisting his arm upwards under the werewolf's jaw, he drove his knee into its back, slamming it down onto the floor. With a satisfying pop, Dane felt the werewolf's head loosen and shift upwards, away from its shoulders. Meanwhile, his knee caved down, forming a notable dent in its back. Gore spewed from the fissure, his leg crumping the rough skin, bone, and muscle like it was putty.
His arm jolted to the side, twisting the head to the side. Annoyingly, it still growled, snapping its vicious teeth even as Dane tore tendons. Grinning, he merely twisted harder, ripping the lower jaw free from its skull. Loose tendons dangled behind the bone, trailing in the air. As before, black tendrils were already forming, stitching back and recreating the beastly teeth.
Just die already.
More forcefully than before, tapping into the full potential at his disposal, he jerked, wrenching the battered skull a full half turn, continuing until the remnants of connecting skin flapped down to the side, exposing a mess of muscle and twisted bone.
Still alive.
Dissatisfied, Dane let go, letting its skull slowly repair and setting his sight on other targets. The snake was slowly getting much closer to freedom, having wiggled the sword upwards enough to unravel one coil. He blinked, already touching its scales by the time he opened its eyes. Calmly, he looped one leg over its body and straddled it close to the head, firing mana through his better arm.
The former innkeeper, likely realising what he had planned, struggled much more rapidly, aiming to throw him off. He was too strong for its weak flailing to have any effect, so simply bided his time. Just a few seconds.
Kra-Kow!
A myriad of scarlet droplets mixed with a more alien green exploded outwards into a fine mist. Sawdust and broken fragments of nails and stone spread out in a rough circle, a large crater now
The snake had no head. The snake had no anything around the impact site, besides odd chunks and segments splatted throughout the room.
The remainder of its body fell limp. Dead.
Simple.
Easy.
Knuckles busted, Dane blinked the irony fluid out of his eyes, shaking his head before teleporting back to the wolf. Another barrage of pointed stars joined him there, assistance from Clownpiece. She yelled something out, likely encouragements - anger mixed with dread, but he wasn't paying attention. They had time to talk later, he figured.
None of the points pierced deep into the wolfs natural leathery fur armour, although it delayed its rise to its feet. New jaw stretching, panting out gasps of air, it looked like it was trying to form words. Uncaring about its perspective, Dane neglected to look into its mind to check, and instead strolled towards his shortsword after making sure he had its unwavering attention.
Claws held ready, it was more defensive than before, circling carefully until it was between Dane and his allies. Crouched. Poised. Ready to-
Without a second thought, it hopped back, spinning with surprising deftness and gunning straight for Clownpiece. Still prepared, Dane blinked in front of it and ducked, swinging his shortsword with both hands and cleaving through the knee joint. Following up, he shifted behind it and swung down as it fell, driving the blunted steel into its shoulder. Pain wracked his mind as he battered hands protested, but as long as they could still hold a sword, regardless of how sluggishly, he'd continue to use them.
Like a chunk of butter, an arm fell to the floor. By the time it landed, another had taken its place with a swift flash of black.
Thinking quickly, knowing one hit from those claws could be just as deadly to him as he was to it - at least now, with his immense burst of strength - Dane crouched and grabbed its newly-formed ankle, tugging. Like a child grabbing onto a door to avoid being carried up to bed, it dug its razor-claws deep into the floorboard, tearing some of them up.
It was futile, but one of the aggressive kicks it fired Dane's way almost landed. Reaching the hole down to the basement, Dane swung it over the ledge, buying himself a moment of time. Shrugging, he tossed his sword to the floor, fingers twitching with some near-unresponsive. His eyes met the severed arm, drawing a grin.
Within seconds the muscley appendage was held in his hands, drawn back to the side like a baseball bat. Playing the easiest game of whack-a-mole of his life, Dane clubbed the wolf on the head with the improvised weapon the instant it sprung up with such force that the elbow joint snapped backwards.
"Why are you hitting yourself?" he taunted. Tossing the ruined limb to the side, he picked up the sword again, then jumped down. His heel crunched into its upper back.
Combat usually went one of two ways. Either it was easy for him, and near impossible to lose. Or it should have been hard for him, but he was able to find a way to win anyway. The later was rare, and the former was more boring once the rush of adrenaline had passed - just a competition of how quickly he could end a few lives. But, both proved satisfying when he got the opportunity to witness someone's hope flutter away before their very eyes.
This, however.
This was just dull.
Why couldn't the beast have been made of literal steel instead? Or been able to match him with a sword?
Nope.
It was just really bloody hard to kill. It wasn't deserving enough for him to hurt himself anymore in his efforts to destroy it.
Blood splattered up against his face.
Steel sliced into more flesh.
An arm was tossed up, landing by the fireplace after bouncing off the ceiling with a distinctive thud.
Dane gritted his teeth.
"Fucking die."
Another arm, this one wrenched straight from the body with the shoulder joint still dangling off. Grabbing it by that bone, he swivelled it around, flinging it up just as before, mentally tracking its path through the collision sounds.
Dane thrust his sword down the back of its neck, trying to twist its neck enough to pop of the wolf head. The more he twisted and leveraged, the more black tendrils crisscrossed over its neck, trying to repair the divide.
"N-evveeerr..." she croaked, voice as effeminate as her original form.
"You don't get a choice, mate."
Stumbling back to his feet, Dane pushed down on the crossguard similar to one would a shovel. He stomped, wondering how it (she, whatever) had even managed to talk. His butchered blade creaked but still cut through the cracked stone tiles, nailing the werewolf's neck to the musky ground.
"Let's play a game. I want to see who can count to the highest number. Me first!" Biting his own lip harshly enough to draw blood, Dane steadied himself, then grabbed one of the flailing wolf arms. With a heave, he tore it free. "One." It landed next to the last two, following the same trajectory.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
...
Steel glinted in the dim candlelight, with both of Dane's swords held in front of him crossed in an X. Just before he met the werewolf, he dodged to the side, twisting and sucking in his chest to evade the deadly slashing of claws. Running completely past, and ignoring the hulking mass of muscle and fur, mana charged throughout his leg. The snake on the other side of the room was coiled, swirling around and hissing as blood dripped from its wound. Poised-
Teeth, right thigh.
Its straightforward instinct-driven gaze made its target exceedingly obvious to Dane's mind, as such - ignoring the thudding of the werewolf behind him - he effortlessly hopped up into the air, flipping over its pounce. He twisted, stomping his foot sideways into the back of its head. There was a crack, followed by a slam sending Dane skidding past from the recoil as pain flared through his leg. The snake, however, was sent spiralling into the into the wolf-girl, glancing off her side and landing a few metres behind her. Dizzy, the serpent flopped around like a dead fish, slowly regaining its composure with the aid of the werewolf.
A temporary victory. He couldn't scratch the larger beast without putting himself in jeopardy, not without something changing. He was going to lose. Die. Both the creatures were strong, even with their wounds. He was merely lucky - said his subconscious. It was more amusing than he expected, being on the receiving end of such emotions. Initiating a fight he couldn't win. Expectations dashed... yet. He didn't care. So-fucking-what. Was he going to die? Would Clownpiece be sad, or maybe even cry for him? Pfft. Death was temporary here, and he hated that. Immortality wasn't sweet. It was lame. It sapped the life out of everything, ironically.
Where was the meaning to all this?
Where was it? What was it?
The answer: there wasn't one.
Life never had a meaning to him besides the one he gave it. And here, that had diminished. Mish-mashed memories previously belonging to Tearen were dispersed through the back of his mind, each giving a little insight into the foreign world. The eldritch being had found purchase in Diablo. A big bad evil guy who was apparently going to destroy everything.
It was short-sighted. Not so much as murdering random people for the fun of it, purposely manipulating the situation so his 'ideals' dictated it to be the logical action. But, let's say everyone won. They beat all the big bad guys. What then? Was there another one? Or would everything revert back to the usual monotonous slog of repetitive life and death?
Heh.
A philosophical debate.
That's what his mind jumped to upon his inevitable loss.
But... Dane didn't do losing. That just wasn't his thing - and people who brought dragons to fights were fucking cheating.
Then again, no shame in bringing a portable flamethrower, right?
Utilising the brief breather, the fleeting lull in combat, Dane swiftly pulled out his phone, firing Clownpiece a quick text before steadying both swords once again. Doing a little jig, he shuffled from foot to foot, rolling his wrists and lightly shaking his head, surprised at how little time had passed.
Instead of converging on him immediately, small black tendrils flashed over the snake's earlier wound, stitching it shut in seconds and throwing Dane out for a beat.
Well... Shit.
Can we teleport? Like before.
No. Even if we get one, the other will have a free shot.
So we stall?
I prefer to call it-
Claws, stomach.
Despite the werewolf looking defensive to his eyes, Dane jumped up, a seemingly random sense telling otherwise. The millisecond he did, fur-covered muscles clenched and rippled, claws splintering the wooden boards as the wolf pounced through the air, slashing claws amazingly fast.
That instinct potentially saved Dane's fake-life.
His feet met the wall behind him, where he twisted and ran along it for a small segment before kicking off and swinging both swords down to the side as a deterrent to his opponent. On the off chance it did jump up to meet him, he was ready. Although it never did. Yellow animalistic eyes pierced the flickering shadows, daring to cut him down, but the beast held still, unmoving.
Dane Regan. Master of running away.
Don't you know it, babe ~ ♥
Leather shoes skidded over the dusty wood. He landed on the ground behind the werewolf, pivoting acrobatically through the air. Tossing a sword up in the air, he clicked, sending a fake crackle of sparks at the snake. It hissed, snapping its mouth and swallowing the illusion. Catching his shortsword in a reverse grip with a clean swipe of his hurting wrist, he smirked, hearing his phone let out a distinctive 'ding'.
"Come on, ya big fluffy furball."
His hop-shuffled to one side, using the larger opponent as a physical wall against the other. Taunts met with a growl and a threatening slash of razor-sharp claws, Dane kept his distance, circling around and stopping the snake from ever reaching him.
As little as he cared for dying, natural movements still fueled his body. Years of practice, training, they couldn't be undone simply by a mental revelation. And, y'know, fighting was kinda fun usually. It'd be a shame to end it prematurely.
His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging, his mind harnessing the strange instincts from earlier to evade the claws before the wolf even swung. Turbulent air rushed past after each failed strike, rippling his clothes. Arms heavy, as if they were encased in lead, he hefted both blades, taking the full force of one swing and spinning around, landing his foot on the werewolf's jaw. Just a nuisance in the long term, but the sharp strike bought him the time to dodge back afterwards.
"Did someone call for back-up?!"
The telltale sound of his ally's chippy voice met his ears. Hopefully, he mused, the assistance wouldn't make everything too easy.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He'd been on the verge of dodging another set of claws from the wolf, cutting it much closer than usual in the hopes creating an opportunity for him to dodge past and free his trapped ally when everything flashed. His vision blurred. And then, suddenly, he was someplace else with the new girl being gored in his stead.
Incompetence.
Hissing, magic fired through his veins, feeling as if it was literally bubbling beneath his skin. Eyes flickering like they were connecting an invisible series of random dots, he kicked off the floorboards with a crack, leaving a splintering dispersal of dust and shattered chunks of wood in his wake. Swords ready, his afterimage shimmered in the air behind him, his movement a blur. In an instant, crisscrossing lacerations drove into the werewolf's side, drawing crimson as clumps of fur fluttered to the floor.
Before the beast even knew what happened, Dane's shortsword was piercing its calf, thrust all the way through and wedged into the ground. Pivoting around, his elbow met the front of its skull with a crunch, sending it sprawling back, sword tearing through more flesh.
He gritted his teeth, ignoring Myst's wounds, and simply fired the last of his dwindling mana reserves through his mind, accelerating its spacial awareness enough to execute a quick teleport, bringing him and the woman closer to the snake. The werewolf twisted, spittle spraying from its maw while it worked to free itself from the steel pin, black tendrils ready to stitch up the wound afterwards.
As... misguided as Myst's intervention was, she did give him an opening. Only one strike hit her securely, at least, with the others being much lighter blows. Nothing that would be fatal - for a prime.
Except she was limp. Completely dead in his arms. He let go, allowing her dead to fall to the floor with a thump.
That was stupid.
She'd really just killed herself? Just because it might have looked like he might have gotten hit.
Cannon fodder like that wasn't worth making friends or allies with - the former wouldn't work because they'd just die. The latter was impossible because they were useless.
Myst hadn't even been smart about it. Maybe, if she was a telepath, they might have been able to communicate about it first. But she'd just thrown herself under the bus.
It was a bit jarring, but Dane's frustration at the sheer irrationality of the action slowly shifter to a more humorous outlook. Similar to his opinion on the average overconfident person he thought. Maybe she expected it to all play out perfectly - like a storybook. Heck, maybe that would have happened if she'd swapped with Clownpiece - a fairy that currently needed help a lot more than her did - instead.
Now, the snake.
Keeping up his momentum, Dane held his longsword with both hands, sprinting and spinning towards the serpent. With keen enough senses to track the blur, it uncoiled, shifting and redirecting his strike towards Clownpiece.
The fairy barely had time to widen when the sword soared millimetres above her head, catching an odd strain of hair. Recovering quickly, Dane twisted it down into a stab, hacking it through the scales and driving the steel tip through three layers of coil. Ignoring his lost weapon, one of his hands shifted to tap the hellfairy on the shoulder, warping them both back to Cassandra's dead body.
"Stay here." Dane cracked his knuckles. Might as well use the flood of mana before it could subside, as reckless as it was, both opponents were vulnerable. With no weapons, his fists would do for now.
Clownpiece was about to protest, then took a few moments to look down at Cassy, interpreting his silent comment. He hadn't even needed his telepathy to get it across - she's dead, focus on the monsters.
"O-okay, Dane." She hesitated, clutching her torch tightly. "You can count on me!" After another pause, she swirled her torch, casting her spell upon Dane with a low growl. "It's Lunatic Time!"
Two layers of magic blended in Dane's body, complementing each other equally. He could only grin. He'd felt it before, but this time his own strength was able to match, his mind honed.
Fluffy the Disgruntled Furball stumbled, ripping out the shortsword with a sickening schlunck. Its leg healing almost instantly, eyes panning from Dane to the trapped serpent, blood dripped from its claws. Tapping the floor with one arm and kicking a leg, telegraphing its charge, it swung one set of claws through the air threateningly, spraying red droplets like a leaky tap dripping water.
Undeterred, Dane walked towards it, arms ready, even more energy flowing through them. Crackling.
Come at me, bro.
It leapt, and on a fleeting whim, Dane immediately dispelled his planned attack to teleport behind it, his forearm wrapped around its neck. In perfect sync, ten of Clownpiece's sharp stars stabbed into its chest, fired from another of her spells. Twisting his arm upwards under the werewolf's jaw, he drove his knee into its back, slamming it down onto the floor. With a satisfying pop, Dane felt the werewolf's head loosen and shift upwards, away from its shoulders. Meanwhile, his knee caved down, forming a notable dent in its back. Gore spewed from the fissure, his leg crumping the rough skin, bone, and muscle like it was putty.
His arm jolted to the side, twisting the head to the side. Annoyingly, it still growled, snapping its vicious teeth even as Dane tore tendons. Grinning, he merely twisted harder, ripping the lower jaw free from its skull. Loose tendons dangled behind the bone, trailing in the air. As before, black tendrils were already forming, stitching back and recreating the beastly teeth.
Just die already.
More forcefully than before, tapping into the full potential at his disposal, he jerked, wrenching the battered skull a full half turn, continuing until the remnants of connecting skin flapped down to the side, exposing a mess of muscle and twisted bone.
Still alive.
Dissatisfied, Dane let go, letting its skull slowly repair and setting his sight on other targets. The snake was slowly getting much closer to freedom, having wiggled the sword upwards enough to unravel one coil. He blinked, already touching its scales by the time he opened its eyes. Calmly, he looped one leg over its body and straddled it close to the head, firing mana through his better arm.
The former innkeeper, likely realising what he had planned, struggled much more rapidly, aiming to throw him off. He was too strong for its weak flailing to have any effect, so simply bided his time. Just a few seconds.
Kra-Kow!
A myriad of scarlet droplets mixed with a more alien green exploded outwards into a fine mist. Sawdust and broken fragments of nails and stone spread out in a rough circle, a large crater now
The snake had no head. The snake had no anything around the impact site, besides odd chunks and segments splatted throughout the room.
The remainder of its body fell limp. Dead.
Simple.
Easy.
Knuckles busted, Dane blinked the irony fluid out of his eyes, shaking his head before teleporting back to the wolf. Another barrage of pointed stars joined him there, assistance from Clownpiece. She yelled something out, likely encouragements - anger mixed with dread, but he wasn't paying attention. They had time to talk later, he figured.
None of the points pierced deep into the wolfs natural leathery fur armour, although it delayed its rise to its feet. New jaw stretching, panting out gasps of air, it looked like it was trying to form words. Uncaring about its perspective, Dane neglected to look into its mind to check, and instead strolled towards his shortsword after making sure he had its unwavering attention.
Claws held ready, it was more defensive than before, circling carefully until it was between Dane and his allies. Crouched. Poised. Ready to-
Without a second thought, it hopped back, spinning with surprising deftness and gunning straight for Clownpiece. Still prepared, Dane blinked in front of it and ducked, swinging his shortsword with both hands and cleaving through the knee joint. Following up, he shifted behind it and swung down as it fell, driving the blunted steel into its shoulder. Pain wracked his mind as he battered hands protested, but as long as they could still hold a sword, regardless of how sluggishly, he'd continue to use them.
Like a chunk of butter, an arm fell to the floor. By the time it landed, another had taken its place with a swift flash of black.
Thinking quickly, knowing one hit from those claws could be just as deadly to him as he was to it - at least now, with his immense burst of strength - Dane crouched and grabbed its newly-formed ankle, tugging. Like a child grabbing onto a door to avoid being carried up to bed, it dug its razor-claws deep into the floorboard, tearing some of them up.
It was futile, but one of the aggressive kicks it fired Dane's way almost landed. Reaching the hole down to the basement, Dane swung it over the ledge, buying himself a moment of time. Shrugging, he tossed his sword to the floor, fingers twitching with some near-unresponsive. His eyes met the severed arm, drawing a grin.
Within seconds the muscley appendage was held in his hands, drawn back to the side like a baseball bat. Playing the easiest game of whack-a-mole of his life, Dane clubbed the wolf on the head with the improvised weapon the instant it sprung up with such force that the elbow joint snapped backwards.
"Why are you hitting yourself?" he taunted. Tossing the ruined limb to the side, he picked up the sword again, then jumped down. His heel crunched into its upper back.
Combat usually went one of two ways. Either it was easy for him, and near impossible to lose. Or it should have been hard for him, but he was able to find a way to win anyway. The later was rare, and the former was more boring once the rush of adrenaline had passed - just a competition of how quickly he could end a few lives. But, both proved satisfying when he got the opportunity to witness someone's hope flutter away before their very eyes.
This, however.
This was just dull.
Why couldn't the beast have been made of literal steel instead? Or been able to match him with a sword?
Nope.
It was just really bloody hard to kill. It wasn't deserving enough for him to hurt himself anymore in his efforts to destroy it.
Blood splattered up against his face.
Steel sliced into more flesh.
An arm was tossed up, landing by the fireplace after bouncing off the ceiling with a distinctive thud.
Dane gritted his teeth.
"Fucking die."
Another arm, this one wrenched straight from the body with the shoulder joint still dangling off. Grabbing it by that bone, he swivelled it around, flinging it up just as before, mentally tracking its path through the collision sounds.
Dane thrust his sword down the back of its neck, trying to twist its neck enough to pop of the wolf head. The more he twisted and leveraged, the more black tendrils crisscrossed over its neck, trying to repair the divide.
"N-evveeerr..." she croaked, voice as effeminate as her original form.
"You don't get a choice, mate."
Stumbling back to his feet, Dane pushed down on the crossguard similar to one would a shovel. He stomped, wondering how it (she, whatever) had even managed to talk. His butchered blade creaked but still cut through the cracked stone tiles, nailing the werewolf's neck to the musky ground.
"Let's play a game. I want to see who can count to the highest number. Me first!" Biting his own lip harshly enough to draw blood, Dane steadied himself, then grabbed one of the flailing wolf arms. With a heave, he tore it free. "One." It landed next to the last two, following the same trajectory.
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."
...
Quote:Dane used his T2 powerup for 1 round (4sp), and got CP's +8 ATK buff. So has 18/0/6/6 for stats. He also used Blink again (1sp). Dane has 0sp left.
I had to edit this since Myst randomly changed her mind and decided to kill herself.