Antediluvian Peril

The group continued to ascend higher through the ruins. Cruentus' interest was beginning to wane with each passing step. On top of his lack of interest, he was stuck with a bunch of people he had rather not have been around. Especially the girl, her enthusiasm was beyond the Mythic's understanding. He had tempered his ire for the moment, it wouldn't do to lose his temper at this point. It was a good thing he didn't too for the situation got a good deal more dangerous moments later.

He had vaguely sensed something off in the Mythos and the origin seemed to be back from where they had come. No doubt Kvothe would be on his guard, surely he could sense it too. There was a sound of a scuffle followed by Wulf's yell which was more akin to a roar. He watched as the....animal....shot into action towards one of the attackers. Even Cruentus had to admit that he did not want to get on that beast's bad side, he didn't relish the idea of being bitten by sharp teeth.

At this point, the situation could have been summed up quite simply. Kvothe had been the rear guard, Wulf, Math, and Iri were ahead of him, and Cruentus was at the front of the group. Thus that put him almost right in front of the door or rather archway to the next room. It also just so happened that their enemies had thought to flank them and trap them in the room. The Blood Mythic had some reservations about that plan, and he expressed them.

A figure appeared in the archway, sword at the ready. Unfortunately for him, Cruentus was already mid way through drawing Veritas and leveled it at his waste. He drew the Mythos into him and through Veritas. A surge of deadly lightning arced out of the staff and hit the man almost point blank. His opponent was lifted off his feet, screaming, and hit the ground a couple feet away. As Cruentus moved passed the archway, he realized that he was standing in an open courtyard. He walked towards the burning heap of flesh, and found the man to be quite far from alive. There would be no hope of interrogating him. The sound of footsteps told him that he would have ample opportunity to find someone he could question.

Cruentus dived to the side just as small blade chipped the ground where he had been moments before. He rose to his feet to find himself looking at a well armored man with a rather sinister looking blade. Lightning arced from Veritas once again but this man dodged it deftly and charged forward. Cruentus didn't have time for another bolt so he threw the staff at his opponent who quickly knocked it aside. The move had accomplished his goal though, as he had drawn his 2nd staff, Aetas.

They went back and forth, attacking and defending, parrying and jabbing. His opponent was definitely the better swordsman but Aetas was able to keep him at bay. Cruentus was being pushed back and Aetas had just been parried wide. His opponent kicked out and hit Cruentus square in the chest sending him backward and into the ground. He landed on his back and used the momentum to roll backward. Cruentus raised Aetas quickly, aimed it at his charging opponent, and pressed a button. A large metal spike shot out of the staff and slammed into his enemy's midsection. He watched as the man attempted to speak before he fell to the ground, dead.

He stood up slowly and went to check his handiwork. The projectile had been a useful addition to Aetas. One had to wait for the right moment to use it though. There were only two of them, and he had already used one. Cruentus stood at the center of the courtyard once again but this time he could clearly see his enemies. They began to close in on him now that their companion had been killed. The Unum were an amusing group, though he did owe them a thanks for separating him from the rest of the group. A small grin formed under the cloth that covered his mouth as his enemies closed in, at least he wouldn't be bored.

One moment, Iri was grinning as Wulf relented, sharing in her echo.

The next, she watched Kvothe kill a man. Clamo's haunting call filled the stone as he screeched. Clamo was Iri's protector, her warning from danger.

He was the spirit at the edge of the cliff, warning her off the edge, so she didn't accidentally just step... right off...

Then she felt more people appear, people she didn't know. And a voice, a voice that sounded oddly like Kvothe's...

With little more than a brief warning, Wulf took off. Irrisorie was almost bucked from his back, but she clamped her knees tightly to his side, and hung on.

The stone of the room raced by, and wind licked back her hair. Irrisorie's eyes darted around, wondering, trying to see all that was around her...

Wulf stopped in the corner, and Iri slid quickly to the floor. A shiver ran down her spine, and she looked out into the room, trying to spot Clamo... He was circling above again, and diving at a few forms that Iri could just barely see.

She set Mathathypr gently on the floor, knowing that he'd probably want to do what he wanted to do. Wulf was putting his sharp white teeth to good use. It was quite a formidable sight, and Iri thought she might commemorate it, by drawing him later in the same red paint that dripped from his teeth.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught Iri's eye. Clamo swept above her, screeching at something behind--

Iri heard boot against stone, and spun around. A tall cloaked figure looked down at her. There was a glint in his eye. Did he want to play tag? Iri grinned. She spun on the ball of her foot to run, but in her excitement, did not notice the other shadow.

That is, until she ran into it headlong. Thick wool, wet with frost, the lump of a few weapons, and an odd tingling in her side. Irrisorie stepped back bashfully, observing the second man. He looked... shocked, for some reason. Surely she'd surprised him by running into him.

Her eyes drifted down to investigate the tingling in her side, and she saw the metal grip. Surely it belonged to a dagger, and surely that dagger was quite soundly in her side. This man must have had it poised. What a silly trick to play.

"Now what did you do that for," Iri demanded, in a playfully scolding tone. She placed both hands on the dagger handle, and with a firm grip, tugged on it. It was an odd feeling, like putting your toes in cold gelatin, but Iri extracted the blade with little trouble. It was no longer silver, but red, covered in a glistening film of paint. A droplet slid off the tip and splashed to the ground.

Somewhere between being Firrerreo, and Irrisorie, the wound became as insignificant as a paper-cut. She'd have to repair her cloak, of course, but that was a small matter.

The man had not moved, and he still looked very surprised. He wasn't very good at tag at all. But maybe this was a different game, and the dagger was part of the game.

"Your turn!" Iri grinned, turning the dagger in her hand. She took a half-step forward, and plunged the blade into his gut. His eyes got even bigger with shock, and then he staggered backwards. A strange cough came from his chest, and red paint flecked his now-pale lips, in a fine mist. He stumbled again, then fell to his knees.

"Oh," Iri said, looking somewhat puzzled, but hardly perturbed. He really wasn't throwing her any bones here, was he? How was she supposed to figure out his game if he didn't say anything? She shrugged it off. If he wasn't going to play fair, then she didn't need to play with him at all.

She looked at the other, who was a bit paler than he had been, but had just moved to face her, in some sort of stance.

"How'd you guys get back here in the corner?" she asked. But then she saw her answer -- what had appeared to be a solid wall was actually a row of narrow columns, and then a second wall -- some sort of old servant's hall, or entrance, or some-such.

More were coming. And Iri sense more behind her, and there were more near the others, and more around Wulf, and Oh! More all over the place.

A few of them started to close in on Iri, and they looked quite purposeful. She saw more than one staff and sword. In fact, one of the staffs had the most gorgeous purple gem!

They were close enough for her to touch that gem now.

Clam's warning reached crescendo.

Then, a booming snarling growl washed over Irrisorie from behind, and she smiled sweetly. Massive legs as thick as pine trunks thundered around her as the beast passed her, lowering his head and knocking away the offending Unum like bowling pins. The beast finished its charge and looked back at Irrisorie.

"Baor!" Her good friend!

He was a Boar wolf, and he was massive. Thirteen feet at the shoulder, and a barrel chest, with a thick neck and thicker legs. His thick fur rippled over huge muscles, hackles raised threateningly. A hundred gleaming white dagger-teeth dripped with saliva, his muzzle corded and wrinkled in a savage snarl. Steam hissed from his nostrils as he panted, like a massive iron machine. His small black eyes glinted with one meaning, one purpose. Iri was glad he had arrived.

Suddenly, a thought occurred to her that made her turn her head quickly around, and her eyes skim every corner.

"Mathathyper, where'd you go?"

She hadn't seen him in a bit. What had held him up?

{Long >.> doesn't really affect the rest of you guys, so feel free to skip over it if you want to. I'm writing it for my own sh!ts and giggles :3}

Kvothe crashed into darkness.

Something reached up and caught him, though he couldn't say that he was thankful for it. The thing he hit was hard, and sent pain racing through his side before he came down with a thud to the frozen stone floor.

He picked himself up with a few curses muttered in the language of his people and looked around. Even for one with the enhancements to low-light vision that came with the prolonged use of Etherium, it was dark. The little building was not quite as small as it appeared from the outside. It went into the side of the mountain, and it went deep. There was a little pool of moonlight near the entrance, where part of the roof had fallen in, but it didn't penetrate very far.

The soft whisper of metal on fabric called out through the dark as Kvothe slid Orcus out of its place through his sash. He held a hand up in front of him and a small ball of light came to be. Flare. It was a useful ability, and one that was known to many of the Mythics. The light was soft, filling the area with a glow that was bright enough to see well, but not harsh. It was a simple thing to hold the power there, and set it to last for a little while on its own so that he wouldn't have to walk around with his hand up in front of him in order to see.

From what he could gather, he was in some sort of temple, or chapel or something of the sort. The ceiling was high, lost in the shadows beyond the edge of the light that Kvothe's power cast. It was long and narrow, with rows of old stone benches that were in disarray now, after so many years of being forgotten. Some were broken, as water had found its way into the little cracks that webbed across their surface and forced them open when the winter's freeze came. Others were merely dusty, waiting for the return of the long-gone practitioners of whatever faith had once been held here.

There was an altar at the head of the far end of the structure's side. It was a simple piece of stone, with some sort of carving in it that Kvothe didn't recognize. There were no windows. The only way out that didn't lead to some hidden tunnels was the way he'd just been thrown in through.

It was the way that Vorian was walking in through at that very moment.

Kvothe's body tensed as he turned to face his elder brother. At one time, that had been all that Vorian was to Kvothe. But as the days went on and the brothers Algaterra grew older, the list grew.

Rival

Captor

Torturer

Murderer

Traitor

That last defined their relationship now. The simple fact was that Vorian was a traitor, no matter what he claimed for a reason. He'd betrayed the Mythics when he joined the Unum. He'd betrayed Kvothe when he tried to break him, and when he'd left him to die on the Aethon's sands. And he'd betrayed his blood when he ordered his father's assassination.

Kvothe was not a man that did not know how to forgive. But, there were some things that he could not, would not ever allow himself or anyone else to pardon. The things that Vorian had done could never be forgiven, not as long as Kvothe drew breath. There was only one way that their quarrel could end: one of them, or perhaps both of them, would have to die. There could be no other way; Kvothe would not allow it. And he'd made it abundantly clear to all the other Mythics that Vorian Algaterra was his burden and his alone.

And that was why red, and even touches of black began to seep into the gold of his eyes when he looked at Vorian, who was continuing to make his way ever-nearer. Kvothe hated his brother. He hated him as much as he thought it was possible to hate someone. He hated him more than the rest of the Unum filth. And now, as the two were reunited, he could only hope that this time, judgment would fall on Vorian's head. But he wasn't stupid. Vorian was strong. Always had been, probably always would be. Even if he came out on top, it would be very difficult.

"What's with that face, Ishar?" Vorian asked, smirking. "You'd think that after all these years you'd be happy to see your brother again." Though Vorian's expression and tone were facetious, his posture was anything but. There was a relaxedness to it, yes, but Kvothe knew Vorian, and he could tell that his brother was just as ready for a fight as he was.

"Something about said brother being a traitor who kills the people that trained him, I would think, Vorian. It has a way of ah... souring reunions."

"Ah, you're still just mad that I left you there out in the desert aren't you?"

A muscle of the side of Kvothe's jaw stood out starkly as he clenched his teeth together. "Among other things, yes."

Vorian smirked knowingly and idly thumbed his sword's pommel. "Would you have rather me killed you? I could have stabbed you in the heart, rather than in the side, y'know." He snorted a laugh, tilting his head to look at Kvothe like he was some child that didn't understand. "And really, last I checked, there was a Fate coming for you. As far as I was concerned, you were dead." Vorian grinned toothily and spread his hands out, palms up. "But here you are, still kicking. Though I have to say, I rather like that scar I gave you. And those tattoos! Are you a Sword now? That would fit in well with all the reports of, shall we say, troublemaking that I've gotten about you."

Kvothe only glared for a moment. "Do you have something of worth to say, or are you just going to waste my time, Vorian?"

"Ah, serious as always, eh Ishar?" Vorian clasped his hands behind his back and turned to pace around, taking in the scenery around them as he did so. "The point remains that there are two things about you that some in the Unum envy, Ishar. Well three, maybe." Vorian held up one finger. "For one, you are, for better or for worse, extremely given over to your cause, as our little time together in the Culsu swamp show." Another finger went up. "Two, you're driven, and seem to be fueled by the desire to make as much trouble for us as you can." The third finger came up. "And finally, you seem to have a way of being very hard to kill. You crash in a swamp while being near the point of malnourishment? No problem! You get left in a desert with a flesh-eating sandstorm bearing down on you? You simply call the natives to your aid!"

Vorian turned around to face Kvothe then, and when he did, his expression was deadly serious. "As such, you should know that you've drawn the Unum's attention, Ishar. Or drawn it more than you already had, I should say. I've a feeling that it won't be long before Saine comes to me, and tells me to deal with you. For good."

Kvothe furrowed his eyebrows and a look of incredulity passed over his face. "You aren't here to do that today?"

Vorian laughed. "It's not my main objective, though it's certainly a possibility, isn't it? I told you, we're here for the girl. You just happened to be here. You're an afterthought; a bonus, if you will. But, know that should you survive this, it probably won't be long until I start coming after you personally, just as you come after us."

"And what," Kvothe started, "makes you think that I'll let you get away? Especially if your... underlings capture Iri? And why are you telling me this?"

"So you're not so shocked when I show up in the middle of the night to kill you, obviously," Vorian said dryly. "And Ishar," he continued, fixing his brother with a flat look, "we both know how this fight is going to go. It's going to go the same way that every fight we've had over the entirety of our lives has gone. You can't stop me. You can't beat me. You should know that by now."

"There have been five years since the last time we m-"

"Five years of growth for us both, Ishar! You are not, nor have you ever been, strong enough to beat me! You are my shadow! You always will be my shadow, and nothing more!"

Kvothe's fists clenched in rage as he met his brother's golden-eyed stare. Now his eyes were red through-and-through, with a rim of black around them. He'd had enough of Vorian's taunts. He'd had enough of his jeers and his arrogance. If Vorian thought him to be little more than his shadow, then Kvothe would damn well make sure he got a surprise. But for now, he knew that anything he said would be worthless if he couldn't back it up.

It seemed they both came to the same conclusion a the same time. Both of the brothers drew on the Mythos, and threw blasts of energy at each other. The two forces collided, and for a moment, there was silence. Kvothe and Vorian stood there, their wills and strength in the Mythos pressing against each other as each strained to overcome the other. And then it happened . There was a barely visible shimmering for a heartbeat before their attacks negated each other. Then there were very visible ripples of energy in the air as the energy exploded out in every direction, throwing Vorian and Kvothe back like they were toys. Dust that had been undisturbed for centuries took to the air, and any pieces of stone or rubble that were unfortunate enough to be laying in the way were sent flying.

The time for talk was past. Perhaps it had been over years ago, when Vorian first revealed his betrayal to Kvothe. But still, they had their talks before each battle, as part of some unwritten custom. But the time for even those was gone now.

Now, there was nothing more to do but fight.

(This was kinda rushed, so yeah, ignore anything that doesn't make sense. >.>)

Mathathyper's bout of freeloading around in Iri's arms ended abruptly as Adalwulf shouldered them both to the ground. The girl set him down carefully after that, and Math’s tiny jet-furred figure practically disappeared into her shadow.

Bright etherium-fueled eyes glowed with eagerness for a fight, and were not disappointed to see the four Unum approaching. But they were ignoring him… Not that it was entirely their fault, mind you, the Wolvdrachen had a way of drawing attention.

"Math, I'm going to need yourrr help here."

"Yay!" Mathathyper intoned with a jagged grin. Suddenly the Squib felt large pulls on the Mythos in the room, and saw Wulf repulse the Unum’s first assault with a massive blast of telekinesis before biting off someone’s head.

Math made a face at him while the sentient canine wasn’t looking.

Big fluffy show-off.

Not to be outdone, the Mythic twirled into the fray himself a second later, lightsaber igniting in a snap of blazing crimson while his staff belched actual fire at those that offended him. Namely, the closest member of the Unum.

The woman wove the Mythos into a beveled shield around her a second before the inferno generated from Latebra Ignem would have consumed her. Math glared and pushed forward as his initial efforts were stopped, still holding down on the trigger, still splashing flames against her shield.

He pressed her back a few steps, and the shield started to shrink in size.

And then his staff’s secret weapon started to taper off, hissing as the draconic flames finally stopped pouring from its mouth.

Maybe he shouldn’t have melted that snow earlier.

The heretic-lady locked eyes with the Squib for a moment, and then she smiled. It was the smile of a Tom about to catch a mouse that had been chasing it around with a flamethrower.

Math had seen something like that smile before; his old master usually wore it right before he was about to suffer some misfortune. On instinct, he spun, dropping his lightsaber in the same moment so as to use both hands to hold his staff, blocking the powerful sword stroke coming towards his head. The Squib slid to the side before the man could fully bring his weight to bear against him, and the steel bit into the stone floor, causing the rocks to shriek.

Mathathy repeatedly squeezed the handle of his staff as he backed up, hoping for another burst of flame.

None immediately appeared, and so he angrily flung it at the woman; he would not tolerate being mocked!

Latebra Ignem spun through the air wildly for a half-second before cracking the raven-haired woman across the head.

Math skipped backwards another pace as the other Unum’s sword snapped at him again, pulling his other curved lightsaber from the folds of his black cloak before igniting it with a flourish. The Squib thought it amusing that most of the Mythics and their adversaries used heavy blades made of metal, for his lightsabers tended to melt through them.

Then Mathathy was jumping at the man, spinning in the air like a dust devil before his lightsaber slashed out, marring the edge of the man’s cloak as he evaded the attack.

The Squib was given little warning as he was suddenly thrown backwards by an invisible hand, slamming into a wall. His fallen lightsaber skittered closer as well, caught up in the wave of telekinesis and pushed along like driftwood. Math shook his furry head to clear it, noted that the woman who had been hit with his staff was just getting up now, and then recalled the fallen lightsaber back to him. Thus armed, the Mythic surged forward to attack the Unum man again, both crimson blades humming gleefully.

He was far more skilled in the use of two blades, fortunately for him, and the flurry of slashes Mathathyper unleashed tore apart the man’s sword like a playful puppy ripping up tissue paper.

Now unarmed, the Unum member thrust out his hand at the same time Math’s red snake of a blade lashed at his neck, decapitating the man.

The woman had stood again, albeit a bit shakily, and the Squib now threw his lightsaber at her; a far more dangerous projectile than Latebra Ignem. The spinning red blade bisected her before returning to its owner, and then Iri was calling for him, and Math turned around, looking for the girl in the corner.

Mythos prevent anything from happening to her, one of his favorite trading partners. It was just good business to keep her safe, potentially from herself.

Maybe the others hadn’t noticed, but she wasn’t exactly sane…

He waved to Iri momentarily, and chalked up the observation to his stellar perception of people...

They had underestimated this team of Mythics, it would seem. What should have been an effortless surgical ambush and abduction had become a full-blown skirmish. They outnumbered them at least 3 to 1 and yet the losses continued to stack up against their prey's nil. Apprehension was beginning to seize control of his mind.

From his vantage point he saw first Odric fall to the jaws of a great beast he had never before seen. The thought that such a terrible creature was equally capable of wielding the Mythos was a frightening thought to say the least. Then there was that mouse creature...

...spouting flame from the tip of its slender staff. He could just make out the shielded form of Kiera from beneath the blazing gout; she can hold up...for now. One of the newer members of the Unum, a hulking man with some of the team's deadliest sword skills, prowled up behind the insufferable rodent. Thank goodness, Kiera had just fallen.

Yes, he had it now! No...yes! Maybe....lightsaber....lightsabers...oh dear. Oh, and there goes Kiera too. Well now that rat just had to die. He raised his precision rifle and leveled the sights over Math's torso. He didn't need to aim for the vitals--a creature that size wouldn't last long no matter where it was hit. He exhaled, squeezed the trigger...

And disappeared. His scream echoed out through the mountains.

At that instant, a turbulent whirlwind tore onto the battleground, throwing back the nearer Unum and drawing the attention of several more. It weaved its way through the shattered corridors before coming to rest between the Mythics and their assailants. Magnus dispelled the winds surrounding him into a pike-wielding Sullustan, snapping the weapon in two with the sheer force of the blast. You don't want to know what happened to to Sullustan.

He turned to face his fellow Mythics. It would seem-

He sensed the telekinetic attack just before it struck, diverting it instead into the crumbling walls of the sanctum. Large, loose rocks rained down from the impact. In the same pirouetting motion, the Rishii hurled one of these rocks int the offending Unum's head, cracking his skull with a sickening crunch.

It would seem-

The intentions of an individual, who had masking his signature up until the point of the swing of his wicked blade, clamored against his awareness. Almost without thinking, he brought the first weapon he could find to bear against the fiend.

Pietas whirled into his claws and snapped up to intercept the attack. The impact jarred the frail figure, but he knew better than to try to bear the brunt of the impact. He allowed the staff to fly from his grasp, stepping aside at the same time. It flew a short distance, spinning in the air, then began to loop back--still increasing in speed. Magnus, meanwhile, was ducking slashes, trying to put as much distance as possible between himself and aggressive attacks of the Feeorin bearing down on him. Pietas returned to the fray, a whirling rotor of bladed death. The Unum was not to be caught off guard, however, and deftly parried the fierce repeating strikes of the staff. Magnus nonetheless took the opportunity to press the attack. The Kvothe's lethal blade practically orbiting him in a combination of physical and Mythos propelled strikes.

The Feeorin parried downwards, driving the staff's blade into ground. In that same sweep, he struck low at the diminutive Rishii. With a quick hop and a strong beat of his wings, Magnus swung himself to balance on the butt end of the weapon. Before the Unum could react, something ice cold lashed across his neck. He stumbled backwards, clutching his throat as a thin dribble of blood slid between his massive fingers, wavered a moment, and keeled over backwards.

Magnus wiped the blade of tabellae patefacio with a tattered, brown cloth and resheathed it in his leather harness. It would- The Mythos lightning struck him square in square of the back and pinned him sprawled across the ground. Between a clenched beak, he growled to no one in particular. ...Forget it! He shakily forced himself up and in one great effort of will, redirected the levikinesis to arc down one wing and into the ground. He glared up at his attacker with large, amber eyes aflame with anger and a good eighty years of etherium.

The Unum girl's eyes widened and she began to take a single step back. She was a young Cathar, couldn't have been more than 17, and it was apparent she had put every ounce of her strength into that attack. Her foot never touched the ground, a circle of ancient dust heralding her abduction by a sudden whirlwind that lifted her none-to-gently off the ground. The wind picked up, twirling her in ever more rapid circles while Magnus' own levikinesis arced around her. The Cathar only hung limp, her energy spent, waiting for the inevitable end.

She reached the apex of the maelstrom just as the lightning converged, striking through her and into the floor below. The winds died away and she collapsed to cool stone. Magnus took a shaky breath and exhaled slowly. He turned to the other Mythics, his feathers ruffled by the electric discharges, and his eyes still ablaze. Wulf, Iri, Math, even Cruentas--all accounted for. However, the suspicions he wished not to be verified with every fiber of his spirit seemed to be correct.

Where's Kvothe. Magnus pulled the staff clear of the rock, turned it blade-side-up and held it out at wing's length. The Unum sniper's screams returned, silenced as he fell through one of the many weather-induced skylights and smacked into the ground--the shaft of Pietas striking up from the center of his chest.

Aetas was a torrent of motion, sweeping out in great deadly arcs. A sickening crack resounded as one Unum's brain was scrambled by the impact. Multiple figures already lay on the floor, either bleeding or burned. These Unum weren't much when it came in the way of skill, atleast not yet. The Blood Mythic was beginning to tire but he wasn't out of tricks yet. There was a way to finish this fight rather quickly but he wouldn't use it unless absolutely necessary.

He jumped back after parrying another strike, slowly gauging his enemies advance. He had whittled their numbers down enough so that he was no longer surrounded, but that had also had an adverse effect. The smaller numbers had forced his enemies into concentrating their attacks more efficiently, that didn't improve his increasingly sour mood. Peace and quiet was not to be found here as he had initially hoped nor were the live Unum he needed for interrogation. They seemed to be quite stubborn on killing him.

Almost to the point of desperation

At that thought, Cruentus knew that something was off. He had sensed it before vaguely but now he was certain of it. The Unum didn't like them, but it didn't make sense for them to throw so many resources at the Mythics unless they had an ulterior motive. Of course he had no idea what it was, and he didn't much care for it. This did present an opportunity for him, an opportunity for information. So far he had not managed to find out his sister's whereabouts but maybe one of these cowards held the answer.

The enemy charged forward and Cruentus drew his arm back. He then launched Aetas forward, it raced towards the enemy. It hit the dead center of his chest, the force of the blow impaling him and then sending him straight to the ground, lifeless. Veritas was already in his hands and he sent a deadly arc of lightning into the shoulder of the next opponent as he charged forward. The staff was once again on his back as he dived forward, an Unum's blade passed mere inches over his head. He rolled to his feet, yanking Aetas out of first man's body as he did. Cruentus spun to the left, swinging the staff around wide and right into his opponent's face. His nose was the first thing to break among many, the shattered heap collapsed to the ground with a thud.

Cruentus' opponents now numbered three and they slowly circled around him. The Blood Mythic had many options available to him, but he was getting rather tired of all this. While fighting did get his blood running, he got bored of it rather quickly. If he was lucky he could finish this fight and get away from the rest amidst the confusion of battle. Maybe then he could gain the solitude that he desired. Aetas found its way onto Cruentus' back and was replaced with Veritas. His opponents seemed wary of the change, by now they knew the purpose of the two staffs. They could no doubt smell the putrid stink of their comrades burnt flesh.

The Blood Mythic then proceeded to do something rather odd. He bit the cloth that covered his mouth. What the Unum didn't know was that there was a pouch which held a small amount of Etherium. Upon breaking the pouch open, Cruentus breathed in deeply. His mind suddenly felt empowered, clearing, he could feel his senses elevating with each passing breath. His eyes glowed a vibrant blue, almost as if they were seeping excess energy. His opponents didn't like the look of this, and decided they wouldn't wait to see what would happen if they did nothing. One of them marshaled the other three into attack.

He raised Veritas, focusing the Mythos into the staff as he did. Cruentus watched his enemies run towards him, blades raised, but it almost seemed as if it was in slow motion. The Mythos had gathered in Veritas' gem, waiting to be unleashed. He slammed the staff into the ground, keeping his head down as he did. Lightning shot out in every direction, slamming into his opponents, launching them off their feet with a scream. Three separate thuds indicated their sudden deaths, and the end to this battle. Cruentus replaced the staff on his back and went to see if the others had any luck capturing a live Unum.

Fear was a powerful weapon if wielded correctly. Far more effective than the sharpest sword or the most powerful rifle, but if it was misused then it was more disastrous than cutting the wrong wire on a bomb. Wulf may not have wielded his sword, or his staff, but he had fear. His massive canine frame combined with those gleaming white-dagger teeth that were stained a brilliant crimson was more than enough to inspire panic.

But it was his presence, what the eyes couldn't see, that cultured it to a point where he weaponized it. It normally held the feeling of neutrality and justice, but at that moment it only bore the mal feeling of violence, destruction, and hatred. It told them that they wouldn't only die if they came any closer to him or his party.

They would die painfully.

Adalwulf's hackles were raised and his ears were pressed back into that great skull as he glared out at the remaining few men and women. While fear was a great weapon, it couldn't be expected to completely finish the battle. The three Unum only offered wide stares in response, and the creature noticed that their knuckles were white from the grip that they held on their weapons.

A stiff wall of air formed with the Mythos was cast at the trio, throwing them off balance enough for him to charge. He threw his weight forward in a dead charge towards the closest man as he fell backwards, launching his weight at the man with every last ounce of his power. Wulf's hands latched around the Unum's before their bodies crashed together and the lighter of the two was slammed into the ground. Less than a moment later Wulf brought his maw down around the Unum's face with a wet crunch.

The Unum's grip on his weapons instantly went lucid, allowing Wulf to take them for his own. Now he had fear and a sword and a staff. And the staff was bladed. Goody. The massive canine looked reminiscent of an ancient greek God as he backed off of the man and hurled his spear at the woman.
The phylum skewered her chest with a slick shlink! Within an instnat the creature hurled its sword as well, and listened as it wailed through the air towards its target.

He fell when the blade sunk into the flesh between his mantle and the crown of his chest. Haivng missed the events with Iri, Math, and Magnus he turned towards the four and looked at them as if nothing had just happened. "He was fighting overrr therrre," Wulf's snout dipped down towards the last place he'd seen Kvothe, "and now he's gone."

Mathathy was doing some marvelous killing, and Iri made a mental not to compliment him later. She looked around the room, felt and saw all there was to hear and see, and thought that the Unum were awfully silly. They had started this game, but they weren't even very good at it!

Iri found herself shortly distracted by the film of red paint that now clung to her fingers. She'd been fiddling with her cloak, and now it was wet with paint! How delightful!

It simply begged for a canvas. She peered at it, so bright and shiny on her fingers, and considered the best place...

Something cold touched Iri's neck, and something pulled her head back. She could feel a whole person behind her, pulled back to press against them.

"Hello little girl," the person -- a woman -- said in her ear.

"Oh hello!" Iri replied quite cheerily.

Two men came around to the left and the right, flanking Iri and the woman. The one on her left was tall and expressionless, the one on the right slightly shorter, and sneering. His skin was pale... Oh here was her canvas!

Iri lurched excitedly forward, glistening fingertips reaching for the man.

"You need a bit of col--"

She was jerked back again by the hair and the cold at her neck, cutting off her words, but not before her glistening fingertips could graze his cheeks, leaving lines of red. Yes, he looked much better with a bit of color.

"Crazy Shu--"

"C'mon," said the woman. "Let's go, sweetie." Her tone was as cold as the air.

"Where are we going?" Iri asked, trying to twist her head around and see the woman behind her. It was then that she felt the wetness rolling ticklishly down her neck, slipping across the ridge of her collarbone. More paint.

"Iri," came the familiar voice. Gnare caught her attention, standing between the two men. He brought her head back straight, and she smiled to him in greeting. "It's best if you just go with them nicely, and don't ask too many questions."

The man on the left eyed Gnare warily, while the one on the right drew his blade.

"Witch," he hissed.

"But I don't want to go with them," Iri said. "Math and Vulf and Kvothe and Maggie are much more fun than them. They can't even play their own game!"

"Still," Gnare persisted, "It would be best if you go along."

For as hardy as Irrisorie's Firrerreo blood mad her, injuries that directly affected the brain or the heart were still lethal, and a sliced jugular did not bode well for her brain -- there was, after all, a knife at her throat.

Iri considered Gnare's words, but she trusted him.

"Alright then," she said as much to him as the Unum. So she began to walk with them, cooperating, though she still felt fresh paint on her throat. They drew her back towards the wall that was really a hall -- the place from which they'd come in.

But there was a shadow nearby. It wasn't a plain, normal shadow. It had eyes, eyes that saw everything -- nothing but two glints in the darkness. Iri could not comprehend hatred, but this shadow could. This shadow hated the Unum for all they had done to her friends. This shadow hated the Unum for every hurt they had caused over the years, the years that Iri had been hear on Aairu and before.

This shadow watched. This shadow waited. This shadow hated. It lingered. It hid. Perhaps soon it would be called to transform, to become the monster Rage. But not yet. Not now.

It settled in the darkness, the darkness into which Iri disappeared, between the palor of the pillars.

{(really) Long again, as I tried to cram all of this, which I originally meant to be multiple posts, into one post >> I'm done with it now xD will rejoin y'all in my next post. You can, as with the last one, feel free to ignore. I'm sosorry >> No srsly. I really am xD}

For the first time in a very long time, music filled the old temple. Too long had it rested there, unknown to the rest of the world, with little more than snow, dust, and silence as company. But then came the brothers Algaterra, and they brought sound, to break the silence. The brought life, to give the abandoned place a reason for existence once again. But above all, they brought music.

It was an odd type of music, one that shifted in form and tempo as they battled across the broken stone pews and over piles of rubble. Before, the little service hall had been filled with the songs and hymns of the people that lived there, offering them up to their god or gods. But now? Now there was a different sort of song. It was a song of blades. Each note was the impact of their swords upon one another; every phrase was determined by the ebb and flow of the battle. And, every now and then, there would be the occasional punctuation--a punch to the side, or a buck to the face with the pommel of one of the swords, or even the occasional sickly sweet sound of metal cutting through cloth and flesh.

It was a very different song than what the old hall was used to, but, if stones could think, they probably wouldn't mind. Anything was better than the silence.

Kvothe's breath came hard as he darted back, working Orcus like a mad man to fend off the rain of strikes that Vorian suddenly launched into. High. Low. Block the swipe to the sid- no that was a feint. Dammit! Kvothe stopped Vorian's sword from biting into his flesh (again), but it was an ugly affair. Vorian smirked as he took control of his blade, forcing it to the outside as he stepped into Kvothe's guard and socked him in the stomach. Kvothe grunted, but he didn't waste any time and struck out with his foot at Vorian's ankle, taking it out from under him before a wave of the Mythos sent the Unum man crashing back and away from him.

Things had been hard so far. Neither of the brothers had escaped injury so far; Kvothe had a nick on his right forearm and another one on his side, both of which were slowly turning the immediately surrounding brown of his robes red; add to that numerous bruises and the like, and he was getting pretty banged up. But Vorian had not gone untouched--Kvothe's sword had clipped the edge of his face, giving rise to a thin red line that was currently trickling a little bit of blood. He'd also been on the receiving end of a hard punch to the ribs--one that might have broken bone, were it not for the denser, hardier bones that came with his Rilan heritage.

Kvothe was putting up a fight, but even at this rate, he couldn't tell who would come out on top. He was good, but Vorian was as well; add to that Vorian's superior physical strength and speed, and Kvothe found that he was fighting an uphill battle. Then again, it that wasn't anything knew, when it came to fighting his brother.

He leapt out toward his fallen brother, using the Mythos to power the muscles in his legs to spring him off faster than he would normally been able to do. Vorian was already recovering though, and Kvothe saw an hand stretched out toward him before the world blurred around him and he was sent careening into a wall.

Cold stone met him to stop his flight, and it was far from kind. Pain rippled out across his back and his breath was thrown from him violently as he sank to the ground, but he couldn't let that stop him. He couldn't afford to. That point was punctuated rather effectively when he looked up to see Vorian closing in and reaching out with a stroke toward his neck that would rend his head from his shoulders. Kvothe ducked the blow and surged to his feet, driving Orcus before him in a hard thrust while Vorian's sword continued onward. Vorian tilted himself to the side, avoiding the blow, and caught the wrist of Kvothe's wrist with his free hand. He jerked Kvothe's wrist back, pulling Kvothe forward and off balance. Then the elbow of his sword arm came back, slamming once, twice, into the side of Kvothe's head and then squarely into the middle of his face before invisible fingers of the Mythos picked him up and sent him across the room once again.

Kvothe's head was spinning as he sailed through the air. He was dimly aware of the sound of Orcus clattering to the ground and of some warm liquid oozing out of his nose. He hit the ground and slid until one of the broken pews stopped him, and there he lay. His vision was spinning. His body--specifically his head --hurt, and hurt a lot. Still, somewhere within him, he found the resolve to push that all away and force himself slowly, shakily to his feet. The worlds stopped titling around as he came to stand up fully, and there, a few meters in front of him, was Vorian, standing with that smirk that had driven Kvothe up a wall in their youth and both of their swords in his hands.

Well, that couldn't be good.

Kvothe tasted blood in his mouth and put a hand up, remembering that he was bleeding from the nose now. He didn't bother to wipe it away; isntead, he met Vorian's gaze flatly, with that determined gold still shining brightly in his eyes.

"Well, Ishar, what will you do now?" Vorian jeered, amusement obvious in his voice. "It seems I have your weapon." He held Orcus up, then, looking at the dark metal of the blade in the soft light that was still coming from Kvothe's Flare. "And it's such a nice one, too. Did you get it when you became a Sword?" Vorian's eyes threaded with silver as he smirked darkly. Kvothe knew the smirk; it wasn't the usual mocking one, but rather the 'I'm about to put you in a world of pain' variant. "I'd think you would try to hold onto it better, but I suppose that ability is beyond you."

Kvothe didn't say anything. He didn't move. Instead, he reached out with the Mythos, without moving his hands--since, while the motions helped focus, they weren't necessary--and jerked Vorian back, reminding him that, though he was unarmed, he was far from harmless.

Vorian only laughed at the show, though. "Ah, of course, you still have your telekinesis. How could I forget? But, I wonder how your skills in the other areas have progressed..." The hand that held Orcus came up. A few of Vorian's fingers rose up from the hilt and pointed at Kvothe, and then lighting ripped through the air between them.

Again, Kvothe just stood there. At the twitch of finger, a bubble of energy arose around him. The lightning hit. The shield held strong, and rather than simply holding the lightning, sent the bolts arcing harmlessly away. Vorian's eyebrows lifted a bit. Kvothe smirked. "And how would you judge that, dear brother?"

Vorian's expression shifted to one that was suddenly very serious. Kvothe could feel energy building within him; he knew what was coming. But he had tricks now. New tricks. Tricks Vorian didn't know about.

The protective bubble dropped from around him and reappeared, this time around Vorian. As luck would have it, it appeared at the same time that another, much more powerful wave of lightning burst from Vorian's fingertips. Still, it held, though Kvothe could feel the strain of keeping it up against the onslaught. And much to his amusement, the lightning ricocheted of the inside of the bubble, right back to Vorian. That wiped the amused silver right out of Vorian's eyes in a hurry. Kvothe grinned darkly at his brother's yells. He laughed at him once the lightning stopped.

But he did not let the bubble drop; Vorian was trapped within--why should he let it down? "Looks like I caught you, Vorian," Kvothe said, smirking as he took a few slow steps toward his brother. "Would've done you well to ke-"

The sudden feeling of Vorian's mind slamming against his own killed the words in his throat. It killed the amusement. It killed every train of thought that might have been running through Kvothe's mind except for one. No. Not again.

His face visible paled as he stumbled back. Memories returned to him. Memories of being strapped to a table in that dank Unum prison in the Culsu swamp. Memories of having the liquid Etherium forced into his bloodstream so that Vorian could use his mind as a playground as the Unum tried to break him. he'd endured many things in that prison--he'd been beaten regularly and he'd barely been fed enough to stay alive, among other things--but nothing had left a mark on him like the mental torture. It was the cause of the phobia of telepaths he held to this day, and now, the very man that caused it was using telepathy against him. Kvothe might have cursed the fact that Vorian's strongest area in the Mythos was telepathy if he hadn't been on the verge of soiling himself.

Vorian, of course, knew nothing of this fear. But when Kvothe reacted more than someone should have and stumbled back, radiating horror and letting the bubble drop, he knew that something was up. "What's wrong, Ishar?" he asked in a whisper. Those threads of silver returned to his eyes as he walked forward, holding the two swords casually. Again, his mind slammed against Kvothe's. Kvothe shrieked and scrambled back, tripping over a piece of rubble and scrambling away from Vorian on the ground. "Why are you so afraid?"

Another mental blow came. Kvothe felt the hands of terror wrapping around his heart, squeezing ever tighter. "No, no, not again" he begged. "Please, please, not again." He was going to be captured again. And they'd beat him and let Vorian play in his mind again. He just knew it. But what if he didn't escape this time? What if there wasn't a rescue team sent after him? He'd be trapped and-

One more mental strike echoed across the walls that shielded Kvothe's mind, and in his terror he felt them start to crumble. "No, no, please." More blows came now, quick and hard, widening the cracks in his defenses, until finally, they gave in and crumbled. Vorian's presence flooded into Kvothe's mind.

Kvothe didn't hear his scream.

He didn't hear his pleading for Vorian to stop.

All he heard was the sound of Vorian's laughter, echoing off of the cold, uncaring stone.

Vorian dropped Orcus and sheathed his own sword. There wasn't a need for them. Not now, that he'd discovered this wonderful weakness. He did pull out his dagger, though--the same one he'd rammed into Kvothe's side five years back in the Aethon. He went to town on Kvothe, sending waves of pain rippling across his body as he tore through his brother's minds. Kvothe writhed on the ground, screaming in agony, until finally, Vorian stopped and crouched down next to him.

"Do you see now, Ishar?" he asked softly. "You cannot, you will not beat me. You will not kill me. You can try all you want, but you never will. You can hope and dream and conspire, but I'll just crush you as I always have." He turned the dagger over in his hands, watching the light play off of it as he contemplated what fashion of scar he might give Kvothe. As he did, he withdrew his presence from Kvothe's mind, leaving him with a moment of peace.

That was a mistake.

Kvothe tensed when Vorian's mind left his. His cheeks were wet with tears, his body weary, but his spirit, his fury was more alive than it had been in a very long time. Vorian would not capture him. Not here. Not now. Gone was the gold from his eyes when he turned to look up at Vorian. Gone was the red and the orange, and even the yellow of fear. Now, there was one color, and one color only.

Black.

"I hate you," he said, with more malice dripping from each word than he'd ever used before. Vorian tensed, but Kvothe didn't give him time to react. The Mythos surged into him as he lay there on the ground. It flowed into him, filling him so much that it almost hurt.

There was a power he knew. He'd gone to the library a little while after his return to Aiaru in search of it. It was a great power, a rare power. And in the hands of someone like Kvothe, it could be called nothing short of breathtaking.

This power was known to many as Repulse.

The Mythos exploded out from Kvothe. It took the form of a very visible wave of energy that slammed out in every direction, hitting even the stone below him with enough force to crack it and send it down, forming a shallow depression around his body. The stone pews around them, heavy as they were, were sent flying through the air like toys. They slammed into the walls, cracking and breaking apart. Dust, pieces of rubble, everything around Kvothe was sent flying, if it didn't break on the wave's impact.

Vorian, being Mythos-sensitive as he was, had a brief warning that something was coming. He didn't know what, but he knew it was coming. He took the time to start forming a shield of his own, though he wasn't as skilled as his brother in the protective arts. Said shield failed, of course, but it took enough of the impact to keep him from having his bones pulverized on impact. Still, he went flying back and into the wall. Vorian impacted on his side, and even with the blow lessoned as it was by the shield, he felt a rib crack and yelled out in pain. The edges of his vision darkened. His head rang. When he looked up, Kvothe was standing in the depression he'd made in the floor, calling Orcus to him with the Mythos. That's enough, he thought. It's time to end this.

No sooner did those thoughts pass through his mind than the come in his ear buzzed softly. "We have the girl, Vorian," Azeed's voice murmured. He sounded tired. "We've taken a lot of casualties, though. We're retreating now."

Vorian didn't say anything as he stood up, using the wall for support. Mythos, but his side hurt! And what was that power Kvothe used? No matter. I need to end this and get out of here. The brothers' eyes met. They'd been wrong if they thought there was a tension in the air earlier. Now it was thick, almost palpable through the Mythos. Here, hidden away from the rest of the Galaxy, their disdain--hatred even--for each other radiated out freely, and, as some stones that were knocked loose from the ceiling by Kvothe's blast demonstrated, threatened to destroy them both.

"As much fun as this has been, Ishar, it's time for me to go." In spite of everything, he managed to smirk at his little brother. "I think I'll let you live for now, though."

"I don't think you have it in you to kill me, Vorian," Kvothe said flatly. It wiped the smirk from Vorian's face. "Every time you've had the chance, you let me live. Perhaps you intended for me to die a slow death, but you always left me with the chance to survive. And now that you think you might not be able to beat me for once, you're going to run away."

Vorian scowled. "You think I can't kill you, Ishar? You think I'm leaving because I fear you now?" He spit on the ground and shook his head in disbelief. "I know you've had some dumb ideas, in the past, but really? You think I let you live because I can't kill you? Let me tell you something, then."

The Mythos surged into Vorian now, as he prepared to use what was, save his telepathy, a trump card against Kvothe. The world around him seemed to slow, almost to a halt as he entered the Time Step. It was a dangerous, potent ability, recognized by many, though very few were capable of actually doing it. He didn't have much time to use it, but, as was often the case with the power, he didn't need much time. He simply stepped forward.

To Kvothe, it simply looked like Vorian vanished and reappeared an instant later. That was the power of the Time Step--extraordinary speed and reflexes, though it came at a heavy cost and a heavy risk to the user. Vorian was suddenly very close to Kvothe--well inside his guard--and Kvothe yelled when he felt the blade of Vorian's dagger dig into his left shoulder and then drag through his flesh, down and across his chest until it reached his side and left him. But Vorian wasn't done. He put the forearm of his free arm up across Kvothe's throat and surged forward, pushing him until he slammed against the wall behind him. Once again, Orcus clattered to the ground. The movement ended with Vorian pressing the tip of his dagger under Kvothe's chin, with just enough force to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Listen to me, Ishar, your time will come." Vorian still had enough strength in him to keep Kvothe pinned, but he was breathing very hard now--something he hadn't really been doing a few moments ago. "You hide in your Tower, thinking its walls make you safe, thinking that we can't touch you there. You think your numbers protect you and your friends from us, or that we wouldn't dare strike out you in the seat of your power.

"But you're wrong. All of you. You underestimate the Unum. You underestimate our strength, and you underestimate our resolve. And you in particular seem to overestimate your own strength, Ishar." Kvothe tried to push himself off of the wall, but a poke from the dagger ended that.

"I'm surprised you haven't seen it by now, but I'll explain it to you. Do you know why I haven't killed you yet?"

Kvothe furrowed his brow and shook his head.

Vorian snorted. "Of course you don't. It is so I can prove to you, dear brother, how weak, how pathetic, how truly worthless you are. I plucked Fides from you. I plucked father from you. And now, I'm going to pluck that girl away from you. And I'll continue to pluck everyone you hold dear from you until you have nothing left. And then, when your world is collapsing around you and there's nothing left of everything you held dear but ashes, then I'll kill you."

He gripped Kvothe by the front of his robes and threw him aside with Mythos-enhanced strength he spat on him. "So that's the plan, Ishar. Of course, now you'll try to stop me, won't you?" He leaned against the wall, struggling to hide his weariness and smiled darkly at Kvothe. "Try it. It'll only make my triumph sweeter." He turned then and left, but not before reaching out with the Mythos to grab the rocks of the ceiling above the entrance they'd both come through and pull them down. It only took a few to make the rest in the area come down, and with the fall, the old little chapel was sealed off, with Kvothe trapped within.

His mind was spinning as he stood to his feet and looked around. Vorian's words could sink in later, but there was something much more pressing on his mind.

"And now, I'm going to pluck that girl away from you."

They're still after Iri! I have to stop them But there was so much pain. His chest was on fire, and he realized, as he looked down at himself, that he was a mess. Blood was running down the front of his torso from the gash, and a flap of his robes hung loosely in front of him along the line that Vorian's dagger left. Though there were no physical indicators, there were still echoes of the pain Vorian had telepathically inflicted; never mind the bruises and other minor cuts.

No, now that the adrenaline was fading away and he was starting to realize just how weary he was, some part of Kvothe's mind whispered that it might be wise to find someone who could give him some medical attention, rather than charge headlong into another fight. But he was utterly devoted to his cause, and he'd fight to the death to protect Iri... if she wasn't already gone.

But before he could worry about any of that, he had to find a way out of the chapel.

And try to keep from passing out.

OoC// Small timeskip for Math, all others, continue as you so desire, this won’t affect you.

~~~~~~~~

Snap-hiss!

Were Kvothe’s eyes, deeply shaded a pained dark blue, looking at the doorway Vorian had sealed tightly with debris, they would surely notice the harsh red blades of Mathathyper’s lightsabers burning through the rock.

A few agonizingly slow seconds passed as the Squib completed carving his tunnel, before the two crimson blades disappeared with a muffled hiss, and a concentrated blast of telekinesis roughly fired the stone slab across the ruined chapel like a cork from a bottle.

Math’s inky-furred figure slowly appeared out of the shadows, each of his hands still grasping a curved shoto lightsaber. Alert yellow-green eyes noted the injured Kvothe a half-second later, after finishing a curt scan of the area which had been ripped up in the wake of the two brother’s fight.

The Stellar Mythic tsk tsk’d chidingly, before going to examine the Sword, carefully threading his way through the wreckage.

Mathathyper stared down at Kvothe for a long moment, relished the moment, and then proceeded to carefully pat down the Rilan.

“Can I have your shinies, Kvothe?” The Squib asked cheerfully.

The comment, completely unrelated to his current task of locating the many scratches, bruises, and cuts Kvothe had sustained, had the potential to lead the Sword into thinking Math was trying to rob him of his possessions.

This was an unfair assumption. Math’s intentions were strictly honorable.

The Squib considered his mission details as good as a trade agreement. He was to fly the Mythics up to the ruins, and then fly them back to the Tower.

Therefore, it was his obligation, nay, his sacred duty, to tend to Kvothe as best he could.

Math pressed a small, jet-black hand to the other Mythic’s chest, and used his rudimentary knowledge of healing as best he could to patch the Rilan up. A number of small scratches faded completely, a dark bruise lessened its throbbing a few shades, but no further.

The Squib had done the best he could with the Mythos. He was no healer. More conventional means took over now.

Given the small Navy Captain’s hoarding nature, he had a number of immediately useful items in a pouch on his belt for something like this, and understood basic medical procedures.

First off, Math zealously taped the Mythic’s marred chest with a roll of bandages, red blood smearing in his fur during the process. There were certain disadvantages to having an olfactory coat. The salty rust scent of blood was now a constant in the Squib’s brain, being processed over and over again. It made him sick if he focused on it too exclusively.

“You’re supposed to block or move, dum-dum.” Math chattered lightly, as his roll of bandages ran out and he tied the cloth. It would serve to prohibit any further blood loss for a bit. “Kriffing Unum.”

The Squib next pulled a small bottle from the pouch on his belt. He had swiped this from Cruentus earlier. The container read, ‘Asa-purr-en.’ This, he proffered to the injured Mythic too, reading the label out loud so that the Sword knew what he was being given.

The other Mythics were looking for Iri right about now, and the small being considered his priorities absently as he waited for an injured Kvothe to rouse himself. He weighed the differences between Irrisorie and the warrior before him, and decided that he should’ve gone after the girl instead.

Mythos knew she was the more interesting of the two.

Mathathyper did not possess a long attention span. He fidgeted as he watched the Rilan’s chest move up and down slowly with each breath, and decided to browse around the room for anything of value. Almost immediately, the Squib found Orcus, and moved the bloodied sword to rest next to Kvothe before returning to his looting.

“Ready to go zoom yet?” Math’s voice echoed around the room as he scanned the walls. An alcove’s hiding place was apparent by the way the stone blocks fell inward, the weaker fake wall smashed when Kvothe used force repulse.

Math cackled gleefully as he shifted a rock out of the way with levering help from his staff, revealing an ornately carved stone box. The lid was shoved off from a safe distance, and then the Squib had his face pressed against the edge of the box, peering in at the contents.

Dully gleaming metallic coins, a large, exquisitely cut ruby the size of Math’s closed fist, and the skeleton of a dead rodent all appeared in a bright flare of light originating from his hand. The Squib’s eyes glittered greedily as he started to stuff his numerous pockets with treasure, flicking the dead rat out of the container. It landed near Kvothe in a shower of small, tinkling bones.

When Math was finished looting what was probably the ancient poorbox-turned-hiding-place, he wandered back over to the Sword to check on his condition.

The tiny Mythic was done with this place now. He wanted to be aboard his ship, piloting it away from here.

“Can you walk?” Math’s small voice was anxious now as it filled the ragged room with echoes, again concerned with the well-being of his sleek Scout at the bottom of the ruins. "C'mon c'mon!"

The sooner they got out of here, the better, in the Squib’s opinion, for the ancient building had suffered much in the fighting, and he seriously questioned its structural integrity.

A nod was given to Wulf's answer, almost eerily presented as a follow-up to more of the great being's signature face eating/sword flinging. Alright, so it was certainly eerie, yet...all at once magnificent; the sheer primal might and abandon with which Adalwulf took into combat brought with it a sense of awe beyond that of the most elegant of swordsmanship. This does not bode well. This attack has been reckless and loud, but I hold no doubt there is an anterior motive. Master Algaterra has more than his fair history with the Unum and others may be specifically targetted as well.

He swept over the group once again. All present and accounted for--even Cruentus had begun to make his sullen way over after much gleeful (for Cruentus) decapamemberment of sentient life. Everyone was more or less worn, torn, or bloodied, yet alive and seen clearly in stark contrast with the chill grey stone. Too clearly. Neither her Myst or superhappyfuntimehyperaction motion blur were anywhere to be found. Iri. She's missing as well. Kriffing hell...she may have been the target all along. The Cathar who had been struck down with combined ventalevikinesis stirred slightly, a soft whimper just audible over the wind. The Rishii's eyes flickered to her. Mathathyper, try to find Kvothe--if he still draws breath, bring him back here. There's something I must finish.

((OOC: Temporal Warp IV, Captain!))
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Are you near?

Immediately, a feeling of relief surged through his head, bellying a certain joy that--at least for now--her friend was still alive. This stemmed off quickly, however, into a sense of accomplished duty as he allowed the images of the medical dropship to flow into his mind. This emotional torrent capped off with a loose end--an inquiry to what had occurred.

They were ambushed. The attackers were repelled but not without inflicting losses. Kvothe has been recovered, but he's badly wounded, and Iri... She's gone missing. They're putting out a search party for her now but I fear the worst.[/i]

Sadness, with a slight tinge of fear. Only emotion flowed between the mental link between Rishii and Qom Qae for several seconds. After what felt like an eternity, the images returned, tinged with a sense of affirmation. He saw the medical bay of the ship, prepared for his use with all varieties of both simple herbal salves and state-of-the-art medical equipment. He blinked away the ethereal image and looked across Kvothe's wounds again. Good. He was going to need every gun in his arsenal.

One more thing: we have a prisoner.[/i]

_________________________________________

He had tended to Kvothe first. Oil of sirigonia was applied around the wound--a powerful antiseptic that would also serve as a form of local anesthesia--followed by a light film of b2 protein syntheside which would make the blood clot quickly and temporarily stem the bleeding until sutures could be applied on the ship. Magnus looked over his work with a scrutinizing eye. It wasn't bad for an on the spot job with emergency supplies but a little mythical touching up wouldn't hurt--he could already see where the squib had attempted some of his own handy work; shoddy, but its the thought that counts and it may have just been enough to keep him intact up to now.

The Mythos tingled at the end of his physical senses, a whisper of promise and depth in a shallow world. However, one need only to know how to open one's eyes to see beyond that thin barrier, beyond the surface into the realms beyond. It was these realms, surging the holy energies of the universe, that he delved into now--laying his mind, soul, and body open to its power. Harnessing it, as it harnessed him. The very essence of life poured into a focal point, in this case Kvothe, like a glimmering elixir as potent as kolto and as gossamer as a zyphter web.

It suddenly got very, very cold.

Magnus' subconscious took this time to tap him on the shoulder and politely inform him that the holy energies of the universe had been currently engaged in redirecting the icy wind away from him. Now the mountain air, the chill breath of death, pierced deep to the very roots of his feathers. With his only apparel being the cargo harness, this realization brought a fierce shiver and a noticeable change of posture to one that just wanted the world to go away along with it.

Freeze to death saving your life... He muttered softly to Kvothe (though mainly to himself as to take his mind of the cold) as he laid Kvothe's cloak over the Sword. Don't you go forgetting this one anytime soon, I'll collect all debts later. Now, I have one more patient to visit.

Shuffling across the monochromatic stone floors, the feeling in his feet already long gone--despite knowing that this was medically a bad sign, he all at once welcomed the numbing sensation--he approached the slightly stirring Cathar. His natural photographic memory augmented with just a little memory imprinting began to sort through his notes and texts regarding the small institution the Unum possessed for its members. The girl's robes bore the marks of an initiate, were held together by a simple, star-shaped broach signifying her use as a Mythos specialist (often, he remembered, the Unum would track down natural prodigies in the Mythos to manipulate and bring into their ranks), and were nicely singed from the sheer voltage that had sheered across them.

Her skin was burnt too, the light coating of fur singed off in some places.

The Rishii buried the sudden pang of pity for the creature behind a wall of how much he hated the weather right now. Though she seemed so innocent laying there, sobbing quietly with muscles that still refused to work properly. It was unfair what the Unum did to their initiates; fooled and coerced, sometimes willingly, but often forcefully. Torture. Torture not unlike what Kvothe was made to endure. Depths of the Altean trench it was cold! The traitorous baznitch!

See? Works every time.

All the same, he grudgingly applied one of his salves to the more severe burns and modified her cloak into a crude blanket (being none to careful with the cuts.-- Ha! Destroyed her wardrobe! That'll teach her). Another note from his studies--this one on Trandoshan "persuasion techniques"--floated before his mind's eye. Why cure you? The Order likes you to be healthy before they break you.[/i]

Alarm tinged with a discomforted curiosity.

Nothing.

[Right, so Twys and I decided Kvothe and Math need some man-rodent bonding time. So, we'll take just a few posts to catch up to the part where they rejoin the others, as shown in Arh's post. The space-time continuum can begin collapsing now :3]



Come on Kvothe.

The world was starting to blur.

One foot in front of the other.

It was getting darker now, despite the light provided by his flare.

One step at a time...

He swore he could hear his own heartbeat, reverberating against the cold stone walls of the little chapel. Maybe the others would hear it and come for him. He didn't think he could make it on his own...

A piece of stone that had been thrown during the battle, presently hidden by the darkened edges of his vision, decided to get in his way then. Kvothe didn't even notice it until his boot caught on it, sending him stumbling rather unflatteringly to the ground.

His dark blue eyes opened slowly as he shifted, turning himself over onto his back. How far... The crater his repulse left in the ground was about twenty feet away. I thought I went farther....

Now the world was blurring again, going in and out of focus in time with the beating of his heart. Kvothe had thought his injuries weren't that bad. He thought he could push enough to at least find a way back up to the others.

Perhaps the situation was a bit worse than he'd realized.

His head was starting to swim in that all-too-familiar light-headedness that came with blood loss. Cold was setting into the ends of his extremities, and at the moment, he wanted nothing more than to sleep. To just sleep the pain away... That would be wonderful. Unfortunately--or perhaps fortunately, depending on how one views things--he knew he had to try to stay conscious. It was too cold and he was too weak to slip into unconsciousness; if none of the others found him, he'd be through, despite Vorian's claims of wanting to leave him alive.

But there are times when will, even for someone with as strong a will as Kvothe, just isn't enough. He was too tired, too injured to keep fighting it off, and after a few moments, the world went black.

Thankfully, he didn't slip too far. The sound of something hissing near the collapsed doorway called his attention back to the world around him, and he opened his eyes in time to see some of the rocks go flying across the room. Some of them landed a little too close to him for comfort, but he was too groggy to care.

In came a dark furry... thing, with bright yellow-green eyes and a red beam of energy in one hand. What in the Abonean hells is that? Perhaps he was losing too much blood. Perhaps his brain was starting to suffer from the blood loss and he was hallucinating.

Oh, wait, it's the Squib.

Well that was less alarming than death-throw hallucinations, if only just. Math was quite close to the bottom of the list of people Kvothe wanted to found by in situations such as these. But beggars can't be choosers, and right now anything was better than being there alone.

The Squib made his way over to the fallen Sword, who was too weary to try to get up and greet him. Kvothe followed Math's movements with his eyes, and when the little creature began patting him down, looking for... injuries, money, something, he accidentally (or so Kvothe hoped) hit a bruise, making the Rilan squeeze his eyes shut and bite back a stream of swears.


“Can I have your shinies, Kvothe?”

Kvothe groaned something through his teeth that sounded quite like a 'no', though Mythos only knew if Math would be able to pick it up. Math gave no indication though, and proceeded to place a hand on Kvothe's chest to do what he could to heal him.

The effect could be compared to putting a band-aid on a gunshot wound. Kvothe couldn't be too upset with Math though--it was the thought that counted, right? At least a bit of energy came back to him as part of his fellow Mythic's efforts.

Math then proceeded to bandage Kvothe up, covering the deep gash across his chest in an effort to stem the blood loss. Then Kvothe was offered some 'asa-purr-en' which he took. He looked the bottle of medicine over and shook his head in amusement, in spite of his condition.

As Math went about, doing... Squibbish things, Kvothe drew the Mythos into himself, working to drum up the energy he'd need to hold out until they rejoined the others, at least.

Finally, when Math was done with his looting, and had brought Orcus over to Kvothe's side, he returned, asking if Kvothe could walk. Kvothe sighed and forced himself upright, groaning from the effort.

"I think so," he muttered. "Well enough to-"

The sound of stones falling drew his attention. He looked back to see area above the epicenter of his repulse start falling in, kicking up a thick cloud of dust that spread out to envelop them both. The cave in stopped before it could spread, but there were other rumbles across the building, accented by bits of dust and tiny pieces of stone falling from cracks.

"Yeah, we need to get out of here. Looks like I'll have to walk." He pushed himself up, slowly, shakily to his feet. When he was standing, he gathered his bloody sword up and put it into its place through his sash and started hobbling toward the exit. "Unless you think you're strong enough to carry me. But somehow I don't see that happening." Kvothe couldn't help but grin a bit at the picture that came to mind from that, of the fifty-pound Squib hauling him and his two hundred pound frame.

Another rumble echoed through the stone chapel, sending down more dust. It was near the back though, so Kvothe paid it little mind and instead turned his attention what attention he could spare from his effort to stay upright to Math. "How'd you know where to find me, anyway, Math?"

To say Mathathyper panicked when the ceiling of the room suffered a groaning catharsis from gravity would be a smidge of an understatement. The Squib threw his hands up to cover his head and ran around in untethered circles screaming bloody murder as pieces of the chapel-esque room crashed to the ground. Thankfully for the two Mythics, Math had overreacted, as the collapse remained relatively contained, though a cloud of kicked up dust stifled the Squib’s olfactory coat with a decrepit sheet. The Squib sneezed and his large neon blue ears flattened irritably.

Wide yellow-green eyes darted back and forth along the walls of the structure, looking for any indication that they were about to die in an avalanche of ancient hewn stone.

Some diligent architect of old was being thanked profusely by Math—for now…

"Yeah, we need to get out of here. Looks like I'll have to walk. Unless you think you're strong enough to carry me. But somehow I don't see that happening."

The Squib held out his little furry hands for a moment, looked at them, looked up at Kvothe, and then back again, calculating. He arrived at the conclusion that Kvothe was just a fatty, or else his awesome Squiby strength could lift him no problem.

"How'd you know where to find me, anyway, Math?"

Math paused at looking at his hands to recall the exact moment when he had sensed the massive force energy emitted by Kvothe’s Force Repulse.

It was as if he had been wandering through a dark field, utterly directionless, when someone suddenly decided to light up a nuke on the horizon. Naturally he moved towards the bright, mushrooming explosion. It was obviously his destiny to investigate this.

“Big Whumpty-whump sound, you bet.” Mathathyper said as Kvothe started to make progress moving.

Suddenly, another shower of loose particles dumped itself on Math’s head, eliciting more frantic hysterics and a renewed sense of urgency.

Kvothe was moving way too slow and they were going to frelling die!

The Squib alternated dashing between the entrance he had carved and the stumbling Sword of Diligence like a deranged golden retriever, trying to encourage Kvothe along all the while.

Unfortunately for Kvothe, the tone of the encouragement was beyond bipolar, as Math’s apprehension spiked and plummeted with every groan and cracking sound the unstable chapel made. This resulted in both verbal electric cattle-prodding and more optimistic patting on the back.

“You can make it, just a lit— MOVE KRIFFING FASTER!- We’re going to live, yes yes, a long time you bet—DELINQUIENT I ALWAYS LIKED YOU WE’RE GOING TO DIE AND I JUST WANTED YOU TO KNOW AND— Uh. Forgetthat, keep moving, gogo! ”

Despite the hysterics, Mathathyper remained (more or less) loyally with the wounded Sword until they both had reached the entryway he had roughly carved. It was a little small, at least for one of Kvothe’s stature, but Math had not the foresight to consider this earlier, and he wasn’t about to try and widen it now…

The Squib forged ahead at a brisk helter-skelter pace, multiple pockets jangling with stolen treasures, and the desire to feel the cold, open air prominent on his mind. Yet, somehow, Math had the presence of mind to make sure Kvothe was still following him…

As Kvothe inched his way nearer to the exit that Math had so kindly left in the collapsed stone entryway, he found himself wondering something. Clearly, Math was worried about his own safety; even dazed and on the verge of passing out as he was, Kvothe could tell that much from the frantic flitting around and the (only) slightly more crazed than usual speech, 'delinquent' and all.

But was there any truth to the Squib's words? Did he really like Kvothe, where heretofore, he'd only shown any real signs of affection toward Irrisorrie?

Could it be that, somewhere within his dark-tainted Squibby heart, Math thought of Kvothe as a friend?

Kvothe looked down at the blood on his chest. It wasn't neon green.

I guess that answers that.

The dark chapel blurred around him for moment, forcing him to squint a bit to bring everything back into focus. The deep cut across his chest still burned with a fury, his head was getting light... Mythos save me, I'm going to die with no one but this Squib here for company. That provided some fuel to press on; if Kvothe was going to bleed to death, he'd bleed to death near someone pleasant, not next to the magical rodent that would loot his body as soon as his pulse stopped.

Maybe that's not fair, he said, shifting his eyes toward Math as the Squib alternated between hurried speech (that Kvothe assumed was supposed to be encouraging) and nearly screaming at him to go faster (encouragingly, of course). Something about it all didn't do much to inspire confidence. Maybe.

When they reached the entryway Math created, Kvothe found the next problem.

Math was short. The way he'd cut through the stone reflected that. Kvothe was not short. Normally, it wouldn't have made a difference; Kvothe could just crouch through or expand the hole with his own prowess. Weakened as he was now, though...

All he could do was groan and bend down, and try to make it through. That was, until he realized he'd have to drop to his hands and knees because he hadn't the strength to make the journey (short as it was) without falling over. The dizziness wasn't helping either. Kvothe grumbled irritated as he crawled through to the other side, but crawl he did.

A few moments and muttered curses found him back on his feet on the outside again, leaning with one hand out against the wall of the building they'd just abandoned. It was still cold. Each exhaled breath created a thin mist in front of Kvothe's mouth, and he shivered when the breeze stirred, biting with winter's chill through his torn robes and into his flesh.

"Let's go," he said, pushing off of the wall and starting slowly back in the direction he'd been heading before the Unum attacked and Vorian yanked him away to have their own fight. "Are the others still up at the top?" Another wind arose, harder this time. Kvothe's shiver was more violent and he brought an arm up, trying to protect himself from the chill, but there were too many places where Vorian's blade had cut through his robes, or his skin, for that matter.

Thinking of his brother suddenly brought the warning he'd been left with back to mind and he looked down at Math. Thin threads of yellow formed in his eyes, from a fear that arose not for his own wellbeing, but for Iri. "Do you know if anything's happened to Iri?"

The tiny Stellar Mythic emerged out of his carved tunnel a few seconds before Kvothe, his progress much easier than the wounded Sword's. The frigid air of the mountains initially stung his lungs as he breathed it anew, and he wrapped his furry arms around himself tightly until Kvothe emerged, squinted yellow-green eyes ever vigilant for signs of the Unum.

After what seemed forever, Kvothe appeared from out of the mouth of the tunnel, looking none the better for his crawling experience. The Squib noted the bandage he had applied to Kvothe's chest looking just a little more stained with blood than it had before, and he mumbled something to himself quietly before his Rilan companion spoke again.

"Let's go... Are the others still up at the top?"

Mathathyper, remembering the esteemed feathery Librarians directions, nodded zealously.

Math made a face then, as he looked at the tattered Sword, before wriggling out of his cloak and proffering it to Kvothe. "Here. Don't bleed on it."

The odd pair started back up through the ruins, as fast as Kvothe's stumbling pace would allow. Math shivered under his scruffy ink black coat of fur, but he was managing.

"Do you know if anything's happened to Iri?"

Mathathyper's small determined face scrunched with frustrated sadness for a moment as he remembered the Unum had taken Irrisorie.

"Kriffing Unum..." The Squib muttered darkly, before addressing Kvothe. "Uncontrollable extreme confrontation with Unum left the Irrisorie very much elsewhere. Everyone else went searching severely quick."

They threaded through another ancient building, and then Math, standing on tiptoes, thought he saw the top of Cruentus's head ahead of them.

Though earlier, he was sure he had exhausted Latebra Ignem's supply of flamethrower fuel, he still optimistically pulled on the handle, aiming the staff at the sky.

A fireball blossomed brightly into the cold air with a loud whoosh, momentarily warming both Mathathy and Kvothe before the last remnant of built up fuel dissipated from the chambers. They had reached relatively safety, and the Squib helped goad the Rilan the rest of the way to Magnus, expectantly holding out his hands for his insulated cloak back.

Math gleefully intended to have Kvothe repay him for saving his life, but first he wanted little more than to get out of the cold weather...