03-28-2017, 05:55 PM
The Knight of Hatred raised his mighty sickle above his head as the blue glow permeated the entirety of the ancient weapon. Tearen took a few precautionary steps backward as Gamil swiped the oddly-bent sickle in front of him in a wide, lazy arc. Naturally, Tearen raised a hyperbolic shield in front of himself, just as a wave of crackling azure energy washed over the battlefield. It made no physical noise, but Tearen realized that the shrill whine he was hearing was in his mind.
He’s a psion!
The Shadow’s realization came too late as a veritable horde of shimmering blue phantasms bloomed into existence, rising from the cracked ground like geysers. Many of them had hazy and indistinct forms, but each had a pair of gleaming, golden, pinpoint eyes that rebuked Tearen’s gaze with a scathing level of intensity. The ex-enigma took a deep breath and focused all of his attention on the space around him as the blows began to shower in. Tearen’s arms moved in blur as he warded off slash after deadly slash from the massing apparitions, but he could not sustain such a flawless defense indefinitely.
His first instinct was to launch himself skywards, leaving the swarm of mental constructs behind, but the match rules forbade it. Tearen swiped Enigma in a wide arc, seamlessly transitioning from defense to offense, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the eldritch metal of the halberd clove through the psychic constructs with little effort. An indignant scream accompanied the dispersing of each wavering, turquoise ghost, but it was a sound that only occurred in the psychic medium. All around him, Tearen could feel a tangle of frenetic, enraged thoughts seething and clashing like water in a rocky tidal pool. Indeed, these constructs were not necessarily spirits, but memories. Amalgamations of pain, fear, loathing and anger that Gamil could stitch together with his dread sickle. Banishing these frankensteined, residual thoughts to nothingness was trivial enough, but there must be thousands upon thousands of hateful memories lingering in this arena. This hypothesis was confirmed when Gamil made another lazy arc with the reversed sickle, immediately replenishing the constructs Tearen had just destroyed. The Knight of Hatred, indeed.
It begged the question though...what part did the sickle play in this ability? The ex-enigma saw no reason why someone capable of coalescing ontological memories into animistic force-constructs should need something as crude as a material focus. The level of complexity that Gamil’s strategy utilized was the sort of thing that only truly great psions could attempt. Perhaps Gamil himself was not the one with the power. A smart blow on the back of his head was a sharp reminder that Tearen could not afford to get distracted at the moment.
The ghostly constructs encroached from all sides, grabbing and slashing at Tearen’s body. As soon as the shadow pulled himself free from the fizzling clutches of one dreg, three more latched onto him, their semisolid talons tearing cracked gashes in his obsidian flesh. In the ruckus, Tearen even dropped his halberd, a fact that only registered when he heard it clatter to the ground. Growing frustrated, the Shadow went catatonic for a moment, suffering the indignity of a feral lynching briefly before unleashing a telepathic and telekinetic tantrum. The psychic screech echoed across the arena in the minds of combatant and onlooker alike, and obliterated nearly the entire sum of Gamil’s improvised horde. The psychic attack had been so effective that the Knight of Hatred was visibly perturbed, his head rearing back slightly. Panting, his body and garments shredded, Tearen commanded Enigma to fly back to his grasp before shooting a glare at Gamil. Impressed, the towering husk chuffed a hoarse laugh before addressing the Shadow in an almost amiable tone.
“Not a bad showing, old chap...but...I’m afraid I’m growing weary of this paltry contest.” the Knight wheezed, raising the reverse-sickle above his crusty helm once more. Instead of sending power outwards, however, long streams of blue energy flowed inwards towards the weapon. The bands of hateful memories wrapped around and siphoned into the sickle like a spectral vortex. Tearen cautiously went into a defensive stance as he saw that blue bands of power were being pulled from his own body as well. There was only one possibility; Gamil was draining Tearen’s own hatred and ire to power himself, along with residual memories in the arena.
This may have been a threatening fact to have deduced, but...suddenly, Tearen didn’t very much feel like fighting anymore...
He’s a psion!
The Shadow’s realization came too late as a veritable horde of shimmering blue phantasms bloomed into existence, rising from the cracked ground like geysers. Many of them had hazy and indistinct forms, but each had a pair of gleaming, golden, pinpoint eyes that rebuked Tearen’s gaze with a scathing level of intensity. The ex-enigma took a deep breath and focused all of his attention on the space around him as the blows began to shower in. Tearen’s arms moved in blur as he warded off slash after deadly slash from the massing apparitions, but he could not sustain such a flawless defense indefinitely.
His first instinct was to launch himself skywards, leaving the swarm of mental constructs behind, but the match rules forbade it. Tearen swiped Enigma in a wide arc, seamlessly transitioning from defense to offense, and felt a sense of satisfaction as the eldritch metal of the halberd clove through the psychic constructs with little effort. An indignant scream accompanied the dispersing of each wavering, turquoise ghost, but it was a sound that only occurred in the psychic medium. All around him, Tearen could feel a tangle of frenetic, enraged thoughts seething and clashing like water in a rocky tidal pool. Indeed, these constructs were not necessarily spirits, but memories. Amalgamations of pain, fear, loathing and anger that Gamil could stitch together with his dread sickle. Banishing these frankensteined, residual thoughts to nothingness was trivial enough, but there must be thousands upon thousands of hateful memories lingering in this arena. This hypothesis was confirmed when Gamil made another lazy arc with the reversed sickle, immediately replenishing the constructs Tearen had just destroyed. The Knight of Hatred, indeed.
It begged the question though...what part did the sickle play in this ability? The ex-enigma saw no reason why someone capable of coalescing ontological memories into animistic force-constructs should need something as crude as a material focus. The level of complexity that Gamil’s strategy utilized was the sort of thing that only truly great psions could attempt. Perhaps Gamil himself was not the one with the power. A smart blow on the back of his head was a sharp reminder that Tearen could not afford to get distracted at the moment.
The ghostly constructs encroached from all sides, grabbing and slashing at Tearen’s body. As soon as the shadow pulled himself free from the fizzling clutches of one dreg, three more latched onto him, their semisolid talons tearing cracked gashes in his obsidian flesh. In the ruckus, Tearen even dropped his halberd, a fact that only registered when he heard it clatter to the ground. Growing frustrated, the Shadow went catatonic for a moment, suffering the indignity of a feral lynching briefly before unleashing a telepathic and telekinetic tantrum. The psychic screech echoed across the arena in the minds of combatant and onlooker alike, and obliterated nearly the entire sum of Gamil’s improvised horde. The psychic attack had been so effective that the Knight of Hatred was visibly perturbed, his head rearing back slightly. Panting, his body and garments shredded, Tearen commanded Enigma to fly back to his grasp before shooting a glare at Gamil. Impressed, the towering husk chuffed a hoarse laugh before addressing the Shadow in an almost amiable tone.
“Not a bad showing, old chap...but...I’m afraid I’m growing weary of this paltry contest.” the Knight wheezed, raising the reverse-sickle above his crusty helm once more. Instead of sending power outwards, however, long streams of blue energy flowed inwards towards the weapon. The bands of hateful memories wrapped around and siphoned into the sickle like a spectral vortex. Tearen cautiously went into a defensive stance as he saw that blue bands of power were being pulled from his own body as well. There was only one possibility; Gamil was draining Tearen’s own hatred and ire to power himself, along with residual memories in the arena.
This may have been a threatening fact to have deduced, but...suddenly, Tearen didn’t very much feel like fighting anymore...
And, we dream of home I dream of life out of here Their dreams are small My dreams don't know fear I got my heart full of hope I will change everything No matter what I'm told How impossible it seems We did it before And we'll do it again We're indestructible Even when we're tired And we've been here before Just you and I
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued