"Under the mattress. It'll make your whole week."
Those were my words to Rebekah Cross as the image of a nameless and wholly unremarkable Rapier formed within my mind. I had found it somewhat surprising that nobody else had taken me up upon the offer, but much less so that she, the only one, made a request twofold. Perhaps the Athenian was the only one who truly knew of Glorious Eidolon's capability— Nobody else has sparred quite so much with me save my sister, who already held a weapon of her own. And in truth, that one pistol's true nature blew almost everything I had out of the water— almost.
But this was not enough to warrant the only surefire exception. Too many people here, too much nature to wreck, and no enemies that necessitated it. I am not a grand strategist like Fell, but even me and my humble schemes have more nuance that vaporizing a kilometer of forest and lake for these lowly beasts.
I quickly pulled that Rapier into reality, and tossed it to her waiting grasp, hilt-first. With no legend attached, there was no need for specificity, and as such I could draw up a perfect copy of what I had envisioned— a sword I had even the pleasure to wield in my own hands before adding it to the library. There would be no dissipating, no time or force limit that came with trying to use Divine Magic to brute-force an incomplete visualization onto the material world. What her request traded in unique attributes, it made up for in reliability.
For all intents and purposes, the thin and elegant stinger she held was real. Everything from material composition to structural layout to even the attached history— It was all as good as genuine.
After that, I only had the opportunity to rearm myself before the swarm came. Despite constant bombardment, their proclivity to multiply upon being damaged gave them enough staying power to close the gap without suffering visible losses in body count. However, this initial wave had given me an important piece of information— These shadows did feel fear.
That I knew how to leverage.
Ten minutes had passed since I entered melee combat now. I know for certain I've cut through them like a tempest, leaving dozens cut and broken in my wake. They had come at me from multiple sides, first in twos, then threes, then groups of five. Very much like wolves indeed. I doubt they intended this, but it did manage to dampen the effects of the pair of blades I hold.
The terrors of the Moors, symbols of the Reconquista, and the hero that arose from it that outshone all others from the nation before or since— El Cid. Both are well-crafted and marvelous things, resplendent with gilded crossguards and inlaid jewels at the pommel; only the finest livery that would befit a great hero of Spain. Their razor sharp blades, however, and the deadly arcs of moonlight I cut with each swing—
The hound leaps back as Tizona catches the fire's light. It yowls not in anger, nor in pain. Upon the sight of this weapon and his twin, Colada, all even this unnatural beast can feel is frigid terror. Brave men, courageous vanguards of Castille and Al-Andalus alike, knew the very same fear when they faced the man known as El Campeador. According to legend, upon catching sight of either of these three-foot swords, they would throw their own down and scream "I yield!". Ferrán González had not even met the blade in El Cid's hands, but rather those of Pero Vermúdez— and surely my own would too elicit surrender in a duel.
These hounds do no such thing, and have a nasty habit of trying to go for my neck from behind, where they have both the least chance of catching sight certain death and the "best" chance of taking me out. Annoying, but not troublesome. The line that has formed from my peers has had no trouble, even bolstering their ranks as the newly arrived Haluk Erdogan brought with him the party favor of a lifetime— a radius of courage. Let alone myself— not even they, mostly partygoers who did not live and breathe this nearly so much, were in any trouble.
An inhuman burst of speed drives me forward, as Tizona's downward arc continues unbidden by the thing's skull and torso. Strength, speed, agility, fighting intelligence— they are outmatched in every area. I whirl, and to no great surprise, three are midair with claws outstretched, leaping for my neck. Pack tactics emphasizing bait-and-switch play. Smart enough for dogs.
In my left hand, carried by the momentum of my turn, Colada tears through three more victims, rendering them smoke.
Not smart enough for me.
The sound of moving paws from roughly where I had noticed a dark mass beforehand reveals a new nugget of information, one I by now digest in the same instant. This one is new, lining up with about what I had expected for a timeframe.
The root individual that spawned these leaps through the inky smoke they left behind by their passing, absorbing some of their dispersing matter back into itself. Maximizing strength whilst attacking through a screen, off-beat from the pattern I had grown so clearly used to.
They are learning. Getting craftier. Not smart enough yet, but inching their way through the gap between themselves and I. Perhaps with enough numbers, they could eventually overrun me. I'd be stupid to ignore it, even if the possibility was nowhere near a concern right now.
My shin crashes into the hound's jaw, and the best-plotted attack of the night falls limp as the force of my roundhouse kick renders its neck completely shattered.
They did not multiply. The first four have all dispersed, adding to the growing dent I've punched in them over ten minutes— but the fifth and original joins a frothing mass at the center, all darkness reaching out and coalescing into the field of pitch that cascades before us, before pulling back inward.
A lull forms. The fighting everywhere else has stopped— it seemed everything that had survived the onslaught had huddled together into this one mass, a last-ditch effort to consolidate strength and punch through our defenses. Fair enough, I suppose. They were getting nowhere with wave tactics.
The darkness rises, taking the shape, finally, of a man. I observe it as it speaks. Two stories tall. Cloaking the outline of its frame with ambient shadow. Tail seems active, likely a weapon. Consider as large cat o' nine tails, each sub-appendage ends in a long spike. Limbs are bulky, suggesting a rather severe uptick in power, and end in trios of robust but sharp claws. Similar to the beasts that in was borne from, doubtless. Most concerning is the ooze which these key points secrete, seeming of some sort of corrosive or corruptive nature. How fitting if I were to fight All the World's Evil after playing at what I have for so long— But I doubt it's so grand.
Least concerning is its mouth. I want to sigh hearing this.
"'Shadow'. How..." I intone off-handedly, planting the blades of Tizona and Colada in the earth for a moment. Taking a second to roll out my shoulder, my disdain must be apparent even as the spectral image of Fail-not gives way to yew and string.
Drawing a trio of Ornithes Arrows to full, I settle on the expression as I aim for a very high arc.
"How utterly two-bit. You've been trying to take us out for ten minutes straight, and that managed to be the most tired thing here."
I honestly really doubt it's very grand at all. Especially if it bites on the bait my words have just placed.
Smirking, I let them fly. They will continue on their own accord and adjust for his movements, should he make any, until they fall as thunderbolts from nearly straight above.
I dismiss the conjured bow. I have no need for it where I am going.
I reach for my swords, pulling them free from the earth, and start forward. I am a supreme athlete even amongst my demigod fellows, and now that I am in the full heat of battle, my physical prowess is all but unmatched. This distance between us is as nothing.
In the blink of an eye, I am level with it's grinning "face", covered by the shadows of its hood. My eyes bore into where its should be, assuming a humanoid skull structure. A smug look might be on my face, but there would be no doubting that I have intent to kill.
And in the blink of the next, I swing Tizona and Colada in a murderous cross, beginning my assaults both physical and psychological. He was confident, yes, but so were many before they faced either of these preternaturally terrifying blades in combat. I want to see how he reacts to that.
Not to mention whether or not he minds me cutting a huge X through his torso.
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