10-29-2015, 09:16 PM
The firestorm faded away until only the Demon King remained aflame, his energy sword devilishly humming with each movement of the eloquent weapon and his adversary stripped of much of his clothing.
Magus suddenly felt very, very tired. Though he’d rested after his last fight with the would-be assassin and watched as most of his wounds miraculously vanished, in this instant he felt as though he’d not recovered from it at all.
“Water chilled,”
Magus rolled his eyes. Another incantation? Really?
“Sharpened, strong.”
The wizard on fire cocked his head in amused anticipation. Scarecrow’s last attack managed to slightly sting. Maybe this one would hurt his feelings.
“Ice!!”
The Fiendlord’s eyes grew wide he was suddenly assailed by a salvo of icy spikes. Caught completely flat-footed, he tugged his cape over his face in a hollow to shield himself from the tiny, frozen missiles that peppered him all over like a machine gun.
In a desperate fit, Magus flailed his lightsaber at the incoming projectiles, scorching them out of existence before they could do him harm. It didn’t take him a second thought to begin pushing toward the Black Mage, deftly swatting the icy weapons out of the sky as he charged toward his quarry, lightsaber angrily buzzing under the movement of each swipe.
Losing his ground, the infernal spell-speaker summoned another incantation. “Air that strikes quick as a blade,” he murmured as the sizzle and pop of electricity coursed through his fist, arcing from his knuckles.
Magus leapt into the air, his blade over his head and ready cleave his foe in two.
“Bolt!!”
A deadly blast of lightning lanced out at Magus, who pulled another one of his maddening disappearing acts.
He landed on the catwalk in the monochrome of the world-between-worlds, inches from the giant electric spear that reached out at him. Electricity sounded strange here; the energetic crackle and fizz had been replaced with an ominous rumbling, scraping sound.
“Peasant,” he spat, stalking toward his prey. Again, he closed the distance and raised his weapon for the killing blow, before he was literally staggered by a sudden, horrible headache. He collapsed against the guardrail of the catwalk, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp and tumbling over the side into the environmental disaster below. His eyelids, already heavy, stung with the burning sensation that came with sleep deprivation.
What had the Scarecrow said? Sickening grasp, spread your-
“Poison,” he whispered. He looked up at the spell-speaker, who posed dramatically, frozen in place, lightning leaping from his open hand. “Poison.”
He tried to right himself but lost his footing, crashing into a heap on the steel-mesh surface of the catwalk. His breathing quickened as he fought to remain calm.
“Poison, you goddamn, backwards, mouth-breathing, incantation-spewing, fucking Philistine,” he growled, struggling pathetically to try and get up off the floor. His hand wrapped around the guardrail and he pulled himself up, but what he saw caused him to topple back down.
Though he’d only glimpsed it, he was certain: those shadow people were still gathered around the force field that kept the fights contained, only now their number had more than doubled in size and they had surrounded him quite completely.
Magus climbed up the guardrail and put his feet beneath him, fighting the fear that crept up his spine and turned his guts to water. He couldn’t fight; not like this.
Fighting the exhaustion that ached in his bones, he extinguished the flames on himself and gathered his energy for another spell as he ran toward the Coruscant armory and leapt on top of it. Or, he’d tried, but crashed into the side and awkwardly hauled himself up. From there, he leapt up and caught his fingers on the wing of the stationary spacecraft that hovered above him.
Magus climbed up onto the ship’s wing and glared down at his frozen opponent. He stepped out of the plane of shadows and time unwound itself; Scarecrow’s lightning blast harmlessly raged across the arena and he himself appeared quite confused at Magus’ disappearance.
Before he climbed into the ship, he unleashed the energy he’d been channelling, and a dark, greasy fog rolled out, obfuscating the wizards and the TIE fighter that the prince of Zeal settled into. The cockpit sealed itself with a sharp ‘hiss’. His hands settled on the controls. It felt familiar. Like the Epoch.
His laser cannons belched fiery death as he strafed his Miasma-mired enemy in his new-found death machine.
Magus suddenly felt very, very tired. Though he’d rested after his last fight with the would-be assassin and watched as most of his wounds miraculously vanished, in this instant he felt as though he’d not recovered from it at all.
“Water chilled,”
Magus rolled his eyes. Another incantation? Really?
“Sharpened, strong.”
The wizard on fire cocked his head in amused anticipation. Scarecrow’s last attack managed to slightly sting. Maybe this one would hurt his feelings.
“Ice!!”
The Fiendlord’s eyes grew wide he was suddenly assailed by a salvo of icy spikes. Caught completely flat-footed, he tugged his cape over his face in a hollow to shield himself from the tiny, frozen missiles that peppered him all over like a machine gun.
In a desperate fit, Magus flailed his lightsaber at the incoming projectiles, scorching them out of existence before they could do him harm. It didn’t take him a second thought to begin pushing toward the Black Mage, deftly swatting the icy weapons out of the sky as he charged toward his quarry, lightsaber angrily buzzing under the movement of each swipe.
Losing his ground, the infernal spell-speaker summoned another incantation. “Air that strikes quick as a blade,” he murmured as the sizzle and pop of electricity coursed through his fist, arcing from his knuckles.
Magus leapt into the air, his blade over his head and ready cleave his foe in two.
“Bolt!!”
A deadly blast of lightning lanced out at Magus, who pulled another one of his maddening disappearing acts.
He landed on the catwalk in the monochrome of the world-between-worlds, inches from the giant electric spear that reached out at him. Electricity sounded strange here; the energetic crackle and fizz had been replaced with an ominous rumbling, scraping sound.
“Peasant,” he spat, stalking toward his prey. Again, he closed the distance and raised his weapon for the killing blow, before he was literally staggered by a sudden, horrible headache. He collapsed against the guardrail of the catwalk, his lightsaber slipping from his grasp and tumbling over the side into the environmental disaster below. His eyelids, already heavy, stung with the burning sensation that came with sleep deprivation.
What had the Scarecrow said? Sickening grasp, spread your-
“Poison,” he whispered. He looked up at the spell-speaker, who posed dramatically, frozen in place, lightning leaping from his open hand. “Poison.”
He tried to right himself but lost his footing, crashing into a heap on the steel-mesh surface of the catwalk. His breathing quickened as he fought to remain calm.
“Poison, you goddamn, backwards, mouth-breathing, incantation-spewing, fucking Philistine,” he growled, struggling pathetically to try and get up off the floor. His hand wrapped around the guardrail and he pulled himself up, but what he saw caused him to topple back down.
Though he’d only glimpsed it, he was certain: those shadow people were still gathered around the force field that kept the fights contained, only now their number had more than doubled in size and they had surrounded him quite completely.
Magus climbed up the guardrail and put his feet beneath him, fighting the fear that crept up his spine and turned his guts to water. He couldn’t fight; not like this.
Fighting the exhaustion that ached in his bones, he extinguished the flames on himself and gathered his energy for another spell as he ran toward the Coruscant armory and leapt on top of it. Or, he’d tried, but crashed into the side and awkwardly hauled himself up. From there, he leapt up and caught his fingers on the wing of the stationary spacecraft that hovered above him.
Magus climbed up onto the ship’s wing and glared down at his frozen opponent. He stepped out of the plane of shadows and time unwound itself; Scarecrow’s lightning blast harmlessly raged across the arena and he himself appeared quite confused at Magus’ disappearance.
Before he climbed into the ship, he unleashed the energy he’d been channelling, and a dark, greasy fog rolled out, obfuscating the wizards and the TIE fighter that the prince of Zeal settled into. The cockpit sealed itself with a sharp ‘hiss’. His hands settled on the controls. It felt familiar. Like the Epoch.
His laser cannons belched fiery death as he strafed his Miasma-mired enemy in his new-found death machine.
Quote:749 words as per wordcounter.net
![[Image: Magus.jpg]](http://rpnexus.com/sig/miscsig/Magus.jpg)