05-29-2017, 05:01 PM
The rationale behind Kelly's choice of targets was threefold: Steven was the most nervous-looking, he was standing slightly further from the core of his unit than the others, and the sandy-haired darkling had exactly the kind of prominent, bandy knees that made easy targets for a man with a quarterstaff.
Sloughing the sudden burst of neurophysical acceleration that he'd used to position himself, Kelly struck high, drawing a sloppy parry from his opponent. The staff whispered and the traveler struck the other man on the inside of the knee with the nimble weapon's opposite end, noting the crisp-vegetable crunch of breaking tendons with grim satisfaction. Steven yelped, one hand leaving his sword, and began to fall, his left leg suddenly useless. Kelly brushed his sword aside, shoulder-checked him, and the darkling went sprawling.
Steven's companions had already begun to reposition, moving to surround the psychic. He glided past his fallen opponent, stepping lightly over the churned earth as he closed on the next-nearest enemies - a pair of young women wearing halter-tops with their fatigue-pants. Their faces were pale, and something about them put the psychic in mind of beach volleyball. Each one had a machete and an assortment of sheathed knives strapped to their bodies in unlikely places.
The psychic focused on the ground under their feet, his psychokinetic abilities shifting the loose soil beneath their boots, and their legs went out from under them. Two more darklings approached him from behind with police-batons in hand, vividly obvious to his inhuman senses. The traveler pulled the exact same trick, upsetting their footing and sending them face first into the forest floor, then fired off a pair of force-bolts directly into the faces of the two blade enthusiasts as they began to pick themselves up. Cartilage and bone popped and crackled like fireworks in milk. The pale women fell back, sputtering wetly, as though they'd run head-first into a stop-sign made of granite.
Suddenly, Kelly's haunt painted him an urgent picture. He backstepped just in time to avoid the distressed flailing of a particularly long tree-root. Soil and the smell of rot exploded outward, and he heard the chittering of yet another swarm of spiders.
I'm really starting to hate that thing...
The leader of the darkling unit closed in, a wickedly curved battle-axe in his hands. He was heavyset, and dressed in full combat fatigues with seargant's stripes, camouflaged in shades of black, purple, and extremely dark green. His face was covered in bony protrusions, and to Kelly's higher senses he radiated a foul miasma, glowing in some nameless spectrum.
"YOU DARE TO RESIST?! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHO WE ARE?!"
The traveler didn't answer, more concerned about what was going on behind him. Instead, he took a long step back, pivoted, and dropped to one knee. He drove his staff into the stomach of one of the two men who'd tried to flank him earlier, interrupting a second attempt. Kelly heaved, using the darkling's own momentum to catapult him into his commanding officer, then rose and descended on the man's companion like a vengeful storm.
Knee, temple, groin, floating-rib, kick the face as he falls... and done.
There was a brief lull, and Kelly took stock of his surroundings. The man he'd just deconstructed wasn't going anywhere. The two machete-wielders were stirring, but probably not going to get up for at least another minute, provided they didn't suffocate on the ruins of their own sinuses. The guy he'd attacked first was still on the ground, and was probably going to stay there for the foreseeable future. Another darkling, who looked almost exactly like the one with the blown-out knee - he had slightly longer hair - was kneeling over him, radiating a mild sort of arm-flapping panic at the state of his comrade's ruined leg.
That leaves the sargeant, and the guy I threw at him. And also the spiders.
The chittering was almost on top of him already - the swarm rushing heedlessly over the uneven earth, flowing around the fallen forms of the darklings Kelly had defeated. The psychic concentrated, pushing through the haze of fatigue that was beginning to cloud his mind. He latched on to a significant chunk of the eight-legged masses with his psychokinesis, hurling them at the darkling commander and his underling, who were only just now disentangling themselves.
The underling and the spiders both panicked. The man ran, screaming his head off, tripping over broken paving-stones and swatting wildly at his body.
Kelly frowned, ducking another wild swing by an errant tree-root. The sargeant didn't seem bothered by his new coat coating of arachnids - and they didn't seem bothered by him. They simply milled, crawling over him while he regained his footing, and eventually scurried off to try and rejoin their fellows.
"STEVE!" yelled the darkling leader, hefting his axe in one beefy hand and producing a throwing knife from somewhere behind his back. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! KILLLL HIM!"
Steve didn't move.
The monstrous soldier didn't wait for his one remaining subordinate to respond. He simply threw his knife at Kelly and charged.
What came next was short and brutal. Instead of deflecting the knife, Kelly tried to sidestep, but didn't quite make it. The knife bit into his collarbone, but there was no time to give it any more than simple acknowledgement. The sargeant swung his axe, and Kelly deflected it, striking the man in the outside of the knee. The darkling dropped, and drove the haft of his weapon into the psychic's ribs, but Kelly shifted just enough that the blow skittered off to one side instead of striking deep. The quarterstaff came down, and the darkling caught it on his weapon, surging to his feet - just in time for Kelly to blast him in the chest.
The man staggered back. Kelly grit his teeth, and did it again.
"The others don't seem too far gone," he said, feeling a need to explain as he struck the sargeant repeatedly about the face and neck. "They get a pass - or something like it. You, on the other hand, seem practically rabid. I hope you understand."
With that, he stepped close and swept his opponent's legs, hooking him behind the knee with his staff and yanking upward so abruptly that the soldier kicked himself in the face.
The sargeant came down hard, confused by the repeated blows and the sudden fall - and where was his axe? He'd dropped it...
"STEEEEEVVV-"
The scream was cut off by the meaty thunk of a descending blade.
***
Kelly heaved, pulling the axe free. As much as he liked his staff, there was something satisfying about a really hefty blade. He turned to Steve, who was standing, mouth agape, between the Prime and his fallen brother.
"Are we going to have a problem?" the psychic asked, "or are you going to be reasonable?"
Steve looked at the carnage all around him, then back at its source. Somewhere, yet more spiders surged forth, chittering. The darkling gulped and nodded.
"Good," said the traveler, hefting the sargeant's axe and looking meaningfully at the fallen, flailing tree-monster. "Then stay there. If you'll excuse me for a minute, I've got some lumber-jacking to do."
Sloughing the sudden burst of neurophysical acceleration that he'd used to position himself, Kelly struck high, drawing a sloppy parry from his opponent. The staff whispered and the traveler struck the other man on the inside of the knee with the nimble weapon's opposite end, noting the crisp-vegetable crunch of breaking tendons with grim satisfaction. Steven yelped, one hand leaving his sword, and began to fall, his left leg suddenly useless. Kelly brushed his sword aside, shoulder-checked him, and the darkling went sprawling.
Steven's companions had already begun to reposition, moving to surround the psychic. He glided past his fallen opponent, stepping lightly over the churned earth as he closed on the next-nearest enemies - a pair of young women wearing halter-tops with their fatigue-pants. Their faces were pale, and something about them put the psychic in mind of beach volleyball. Each one had a machete and an assortment of sheathed knives strapped to their bodies in unlikely places.
The psychic focused on the ground under their feet, his psychokinetic abilities shifting the loose soil beneath their boots, and their legs went out from under them. Two more darklings approached him from behind with police-batons in hand, vividly obvious to his inhuman senses. The traveler pulled the exact same trick, upsetting their footing and sending them face first into the forest floor, then fired off a pair of force-bolts directly into the faces of the two blade enthusiasts as they began to pick themselves up. Cartilage and bone popped and crackled like fireworks in milk. The pale women fell back, sputtering wetly, as though they'd run head-first into a stop-sign made of granite.
Suddenly, Kelly's haunt painted him an urgent picture. He backstepped just in time to avoid the distressed flailing of a particularly long tree-root. Soil and the smell of rot exploded outward, and he heard the chittering of yet another swarm of spiders.
I'm really starting to hate that thing...
The leader of the darkling unit closed in, a wickedly curved battle-axe in his hands. He was heavyset, and dressed in full combat fatigues with seargant's stripes, camouflaged in shades of black, purple, and extremely dark green. His face was covered in bony protrusions, and to Kelly's higher senses he radiated a foul miasma, glowing in some nameless spectrum.
"YOU DARE TO RESIST?! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND WHO WE ARE?!"
The traveler didn't answer, more concerned about what was going on behind him. Instead, he took a long step back, pivoted, and dropped to one knee. He drove his staff into the stomach of one of the two men who'd tried to flank him earlier, interrupting a second attempt. Kelly heaved, using the darkling's own momentum to catapult him into his commanding officer, then rose and descended on the man's companion like a vengeful storm.
Knee, temple, groin, floating-rib, kick the face as he falls... and done.
There was a brief lull, and Kelly took stock of his surroundings. The man he'd just deconstructed wasn't going anywhere. The two machete-wielders were stirring, but probably not going to get up for at least another minute, provided they didn't suffocate on the ruins of their own sinuses. The guy he'd attacked first was still on the ground, and was probably going to stay there for the foreseeable future. Another darkling, who looked almost exactly like the one with the blown-out knee - he had slightly longer hair - was kneeling over him, radiating a mild sort of arm-flapping panic at the state of his comrade's ruined leg.
That leaves the sargeant, and the guy I threw at him. And also the spiders.
The chittering was almost on top of him already - the swarm rushing heedlessly over the uneven earth, flowing around the fallen forms of the darklings Kelly had defeated. The psychic concentrated, pushing through the haze of fatigue that was beginning to cloud his mind. He latched on to a significant chunk of the eight-legged masses with his psychokinesis, hurling them at the darkling commander and his underling, who were only just now disentangling themselves.
The underling and the spiders both panicked. The man ran, screaming his head off, tripping over broken paving-stones and swatting wildly at his body.
Kelly frowned, ducking another wild swing by an errant tree-root. The sargeant didn't seem bothered by his new coat coating of arachnids - and they didn't seem bothered by him. They simply milled, crawling over him while he regained his footing, and eventually scurried off to try and rejoin their fellows.
"STEVE!" yelled the darkling leader, hefting his axe in one beefy hand and producing a throwing knife from somewhere behind his back. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! KILLLL HIM!"
Steve didn't move.
The monstrous soldier didn't wait for his one remaining subordinate to respond. He simply threw his knife at Kelly and charged.
What came next was short and brutal. Instead of deflecting the knife, Kelly tried to sidestep, but didn't quite make it. The knife bit into his collarbone, but there was no time to give it any more than simple acknowledgement. The sargeant swung his axe, and Kelly deflected it, striking the man in the outside of the knee. The darkling dropped, and drove the haft of his weapon into the psychic's ribs, but Kelly shifted just enough that the blow skittered off to one side instead of striking deep. The quarterstaff came down, and the darkling caught it on his weapon, surging to his feet - just in time for Kelly to blast him in the chest.
The man staggered back. Kelly grit his teeth, and did it again.
"The others don't seem too far gone," he said, feeling a need to explain as he struck the sargeant repeatedly about the face and neck. "They get a pass - or something like it. You, on the other hand, seem practically rabid. I hope you understand."
With that, he stepped close and swept his opponent's legs, hooking him behind the knee with his staff and yanking upward so abruptly that the soldier kicked himself in the face.
The sargeant came down hard, confused by the repeated blows and the sudden fall - and where was his axe? He'd dropped it...
"STEEEEEVVV-"
The scream was cut off by the meaty thunk of a descending blade.
***
Kelly heaved, pulling the axe free. As much as he liked his staff, there was something satisfying about a really hefty blade. He turned to Steve, who was standing, mouth agape, between the Prime and his fallen brother.
"Are we going to have a problem?" the psychic asked, "or are you going to be reasonable?"
Steve looked at the carnage all around him, then back at its source. Somewhere, yet more spiders surged forth, chittering. The darkling gulped and nodded.
"Good," said the traveler, hefting the sargeant's axe and looking meaningfully at the fallen, flailing tree-monster. "Then stay there. If you'll excuse me for a minute, I've got some lumber-jacking to do."
Quote:1200 words exactly according to wordcounter.net