Red. Half his vision was dyed in red, a sanguine tinge coloring his world. A world that pulsated with the erratic throbbing of his head. Something had cracked inside, something that caused him to bite back the bile that threatened to rise. First time for everything. Hurt more than getting hit by a car. But he’d have to give the Storyteller some props. He could still hear, could still feel, could still stand. And with all these things together, Isidore could still fight.
Now wouldn’t it be impressive, that he found the source of the silkweaver eradication within the very first day?
Pushing his head away from the tree root he had smashed into, Isidore righted himself in a sudden, jerking movement. He pressed his thumb against the side of his nostril, righting the broken nose before snorting out a stream of coagulating blood. Every breath he took brought in the sting of iron, and he had lost most of his equipment in yards that he had bounced, rolled, and skid against. A shame about the lantern. Bought the thing and now he couldn’t even use it. Would have to ask for another timepiece too. Halberd was still lying on the ground beside the horned lady; he had only been leaning it against his body when the lightning, the woman, struck. The dagger still lay in his belt.
Isidore clenched his fists, raising them up to either side of his head. His body hunched down, sinking into his form as his knees bent. Blood sheared to flame as his heart roared to life with but a spark of lightning, his vision clearing away. A corner of his lips twisted upwards. Terrible abominations that made him question the sanity of the gods, followed by enough beauty to cause heart palpitations.
“Octavia, run for a healer.”He’d have to be careful. This world was doing a lot to raise his standards.
Octavia would whine, looking between Isidore and the demoness in front of him. Healer? For where would one find a healer here, in the depths of proverbial hell? Well, perhaps the hound could pull off a miracle. The demonic hound, would thus, obey Isidore’s orders, bolting from the scene of the conflict.
There was nothing else to be said by the demoness. Giving Isidore enough time to issue a simple command was about as much time as she was going to give Isidore. She’d close the distance, crimson lightning trailing behind her, crackling with each step…but she was however, noticeably not as swift as Sorcha was.
She was however, just a smidge faster than him it seemed.
The demon would begin simply. An uppercut aimed for his chin, energy crackling along her fist.
A smidge faster was a negligible difference. As she closed in, Isidore stepped back, her fist striking air as his own flickered out into a straight jab, aimed for her face.
Nothing powerful, nothing decisive. Only a swift blow to gauge distance.
A missed blow for a missed blow.
The demoness’ would weave just slightly to the side, using the momentum to transition into a spin and low aimed spinning hook kick, the heel of her foot slamming into Isidore’s side. Felt like the kick had broken something else, just from the impact alone. It was a good thing, at least, that his armor would reduce damage he took after the first blow, then.
It hurt, but only from a distance. Adrenaline suppressed pain, something he’d suffer the consequences of after the fight ended. But for now, Isidore only let out a grunt escape, crumbling to the side as his elbow locked her foot between his arm and his side. Her ankle locked, he twisted around and swung her towards the roots she had sent him flying towards moments before.
She was surprisingly light, and it was easy enough to grab the Demoness. What wasn’t so easy, however, was the constant sparks of electricity that was now burning him again. Every time this demoness seemed to make contact, that same red electricity would cause severe burns, and more seeming disintegration of his skin.
It was a good thing he could deflect this energy, otherwise it’d probably be affecting him even worse.
She was swung, and this time it was the demoness who would be slammed into the roots. There was a resounding wooden thump as her body would hit it.
Following through with the momentum of his throw, Isidore dashed in while she was still suspended by the roots. Sparks ignited at his right elbow, before blooming into a jet of flame that propelled his fist with ever greater speed as he delivered a haymaker right for her stomach.
A fiery fist would careen towards the demoness. There was the definitive sound of impact, a quiet grunt as the fist would meet its target.
“...heh!” And then a laugh. Her hand would grab his wrist. There was a flash of crimson lightning, the roots immediately in their vicinity completely disintegrating leaving nothing behind but rectangular cuts at their tips.
“I don’t know what you’re made of human, but you sure are tough. And that, hurt. Just a bit. I’m impressed.” Despite her words, Isidore would find her hand grabbing him by the back of his head, pulling him downwards and slamming his face into her knee.
She’d keep a firm grip on the back of his head, forcing him into a kneeling position as she’d slam her foot into his knee.
“Haaa, still….” She’d slowly open and close one of her fists, hands shaking slightly.
“Not…enough. And its pissing me off more. So I’m…going to find out what you are made of,” She’d give Isidore an unsettling grin.
“Lets start with figure out what these scales of yours are.”Pain.
Isidore’s entire world would then be awash with pain as that crimson lightning from earlier began eating away at his armor and his flesh, first by slowly, small centimeter at a time stripping away his armor then by immediately dissolving the flesh under it. The same crimson lightning that he now had inside of him - if this continued, this was not going to end well for him.
“Do…I still…look human?”
Bathed in lightning, carapace crumbling, flesh disintegrating, and his face a mask of blood from the nose that was broken twice over, Isidore spat out his own words even as his left leg trembled beneath him, still shaking from the low kick she had delivered. A difference in durability persisted, a difference in striking force, one that could not yet be bridged by divine gifts. The realm of true superhuman capabilities exceeded him. Perhaps if all this had been delayed by even a single day, a single night, a single conversation, he’d have a clue as to how to surpass the limits of this inhuman body of his.
But for now, he had to survive.
So for now, he had to risk demise.
All of creation was a craft of magic. All demons possessed magic potent enough to make them whole even after death. Through spellwork, one could manifest materials out of the thin air. And now, just recently, this demoness showed that this methodology was a cycle. From physical to magical to physical once more, all whilst maintaining the mind, the soul from which such magic was born. Theory, hammering into his thoughts over and over again, the basis of his understanding of magic clarified by the words of one of the greatest mages within this nebulous world.
As disintegrating lightning broke through crystallized darkness, snaking into flesh and tearing bloody gashes into his body, Isidore redirected them one step deeper with the power that he had already wrested from the demoness’s grasp, pulling in as much fuel as he could for what he was about to attempt.
Was he ore, value found only after been tossed into the crucible? Or was he coal, naught more than a piece to be consumed for greater designs?
Scarlet lightning,
his lightning, surged outwards to shroud his entirety, and with a singular mindset, Isidore forced his entirety to go into the depths of the earth.
…
Perhaps nothing had changed after all. Only in death would he accept his limits.
Crimson lightning filled the area, wildly sparking and arcing to the nearest physical object it could find as it disliked being in the air itself. The demons, solely focused on Isidore. Bit by bit, Isidore’s body began to look more dead than alive, skin having already completely been sheared from his forearms, most of his neck and face, and it was slowly spreading further. Not even his burning blood seemed to deter this demon - perhaps, it was to be expected here in such a fiery place.
It was a feat in and of itself he hadn’t passed out from the sheer pain, but even if his body wasn’t superhuman yet, it was enough, it seemed to allow him to survive.
“What-oh you clever bastard-”He could vaguely hear the demoness’ words over the crackling electricity and his own throbbing, burning blood. More of the crimson lightning would come to rest within his body, blitzing about and running wildly within. He couldn’t hold this much for long, he had to give it purpose, and purpose he did. Isidore suffused himself with the crimson lightning within, and with it, the feeling of his entire body disintegrating - but it wasn’t from the demoness’ abilities this time.
Suddenly he’d feel his body jerk downwards, as is pulled by something into the ground. Sheer agony followed, his vision fading but it wasn’t anything he could control. What exactly was he doing? It was feeling more instinct than anything at the moment with such little control he had over what was happening. Was he moving? In fact, he could barely think, barely do anything.
….
What seemed like a number of hours to Isidore, as he would attempt re-constructing his body, would in reality be mere seconds. A crackle of energy, and he’d suddenly feel himself being pulled upwards. The agony of quite literally ripping himself apart would slowly fade back into the familiar pain of his injured flesh. Piece by piece the crimson lightning restructuring his body near his goal - not exactly near it, but behind the demoness nonetheless. He’d need to work on precision, but he had done it. He was out of breath, his body’s stamina failing him, and everything quite literally, hurt to even think about.
But would he go for another blow?
Somehow, he had lived.
Somehow, he had killed himself and was reborn. Still tenuous. Still fractured. Still bleeding and burning, his heart threatening to burst, his lungs threatening to collapse. All his injuries compounding until he could hardly stand on his own feet, his injured leg trembling with the mere effort of holding up his weight. If he had been closer, perhaps he would have tried for a final knockout blow, but at this distance…
Isidore let out a breath, raising his fists up to guard his head, bending his legs to prepare for sudden movements. Whether experienced gangster or fledgling fighter, whether surrounded by your underlings or alone with your foe, there was one thing that never changed.
You gotta look tough, don’tcha?
He spat fiery blood out and fashioned a dogged grin with his stained teeth, dark eyes glimmering in the firelight of his injuries. “Well?” Isidore stood, mind cool and body hot. “What’s next, pretty lady?”
“...heh. Oh, oh, ahahah!” The demoness would laugh in response, not seeming entirely all there in the head at the moment as she’d turn to face her opponent, taking a step towards him.
“Aaaah, maybe instead of turning you to a red smear, I should just take you home, ahahah!” The cavalier attitude showed if nothing else she wasn’t the least little concerned and likely could indeed, do just that if she wanted.
Despite her words though, she had no intention of letting Isidore leave here alive. Red energy coursed through her hands.
“Fine. Fine! FINE! I’ll turn you and this entire forest to dust!” The crimson lightning began leaping from her, into the ground, crushing and causing it to buckle and crumble and crack under her feet. Into the roots, blasting them into dust, towards Isidore once more to rip him into pieces. The demoness would raise one of her legs -
“Guh-huh!?”Before she could finish whatever it is she was charging though, a vine would wrap around the demoness’ neck, pulling her backwards and off balance! Isidore would watch as Octavia would use the vines to pull herself up to the demons head, wrapping them tightly around her neck while her mouth would bite and tear at her head, paws clawing and ripping into her shoulders.
“Human, get behind something!”
A voice, coming from behind him. It seemed Octavia had returned, and perhaps, with help this time. A build up of magical energy could be felt, but it was hard for him to place in his injured state.
If the demoness had continued with her dialogue, he would drag it out until he could figure out how to heal himself. If the demoness had charged in once more, he would empty his entire deck of tricks and go for a cross counter to knock her out. And if she flew into a rage…
…he’d rely on the constantly increasing capabilities of his blackened armor to give him the time to absorb the entirety of her magic and
blast her to smithereens.
But for all his predictions and all his simulations, Isidore hadn’t honestly expected Octavia to return with help. Two immortal creatures, grappling each other. Immense magic power building up behind him. Anomalies everywhere, threatening to snap the last bits of rational thought that kept him conscious.
And here Isidore thought that a six hour ‘shift’ would be just him easing himself back into work.
Drawing in the last licks of broiling flame within his core, the dark-haired youth slammed his fists into the ground and raised a wall of molten steel, just high enough that he could duck beneath. Anything that happened after, he would have to leave to his unknown savior.
The wall of steel would raise, just high enough to lay against, molten and malleable, not quite hardened. Intense heat, but enough to serve as a shield against whatever was about to do.
The demoness reached behind her, grappling the hound who would growl, roots wrapping around her neck and eyes, preventing her from seeing and occupying her attention…not that Octavia could keep her attention for long.
“Dumb-” The demon grabbed Octavia by the neck. There was a pained whine.
“-Bitch-get-off!” She’d wrench the mutt from her body, grabbing the mutt by either side of its mouth where she’d start
pulling. Octavia’s body creaked, her paws scrabbling for purchase as the demon would slowly start tearing the poor hound in half.
It was hard to see what was happening, but he could hear someone. A flash of blue in his vision, a stream of energy would fly right over his head.
“Rest for now by the light of this star, demon!.”
The voice would cause the demoness to turn towards it, eyes burning with boiling rage - but she could say not a word. The arrow was loosed from the bow, the light at the arrows tip would coalesce into a single point. Faster than the eye could see, the arrow would arc towards the demon in a straight line. A surge of divine, bluish white energy behind it would blast towards the demon, cutting a straight line into the earth as though it was indeed, a falling star slamming into the ground.
Octavia would use one of her roots to uppercut the demon right in the face, causing her to lose grip on her right before the arrow would impact her. She’d give a pained grunt, but it was soon drowned out by the surge of divine energy trailing behind the arrow as it bore through the earth and the demon herself.
When the dust settled, there was seemingly nothing even left of her.
“On your feet, we have about three minutes before she resurrects herself. A surprise trick like that isn’t going to work again. And trust me, we don’t have the fire power right now to put her down for any length of time. I’ve tried.”
It was…an elf? Maybe one of the Shadow but his skin was less pale and more dark. In his hands was a well crafted wooden bow, on his hip was a quiver full of arrows and a…stone sword? Well, it looked like a fairly standard sword, if somewhat on the bigger side. It was currently sheathed in a scabbard the only real visible part of it was its hilt - where a sapphire had been embedded in the pommel and the crossguard had a small engraving of a moon on it. At least it’d leave no doubt to whatever goddess this elf prayed too. He was wearing a fairly simple, if color garb of red, gold, and black with eyes of blue.
“...you can stand, right? I’m honestly impressed your even still breathing with half your skin missing.”
Isidore grit his teeth, pushing himself up. From the outside, he probably did look like a mess, and now that he could probably look around his body, he realized that the rags he wore really couldn’t even be called rags anymore. It was a heads up decision, keeping his cloak back in the palace suite. Anything else though…
“Half my skin? Better than expected.” Blood trickled down one eye and he closed it, quelling the excitement of his heart and feeling the crushing fatigue, the breathlessness that followed. He’ll recover though. His waterskin hadn’t burst, and he glugged down the rest of its contents before picking up his halberd again. It was heavier in his hands now, almost unwieldy, but as a crutch it would do. Octavia was alive too, and they had a whole three minutes to make themselves scarce before that demoness would rebirth herself from literally nothing.
He could understand a bit, why everyone hated them. He’d hate a species that didn’t follow the laws of nature too. “I’m headed for Gloomhaven. Can we make it?”
“Gloomhaven?” The elf responded thoughtfully, a curious tone carried across his voice. “...hm, perhaps are you…? Mhm, no time for chatter.” He’d keep his bow in hand, looking to where the demoness had previously been standing, little more than a crater left at the scene - but the red energy was starting to frantically spark about the ground, as if trying to move somewhere.
“We can. Once we get out of the forest, I doubt she’ll give chase. Her nature is fueled by the Blood of the old demon god so she’ll likely rampage in the area for awhile, killing anything she can get her hands on. I’ll be surprised if there is even a forest left, considering how powerful she is…” Octavia would walk over, seeming a bit none worse for wear at the moment, though the roots which had come from her feet seemed withered and burnt. “I’ll escort you back to the cavern at least, but after that you’ll be on your own. I have my own business to take care of in Naraheim.”
“Explain in detail,” Isidore responded as he began to jog away. “And call me Isidore. Was hired to see where the silkweavers went. Saw any?”
“We don’t have the luxury of detail.” The swarthy elf replied, moving after Isidore. “I’ll explain what I can once we’re out of the forest, but don’t expect much.” For most of the initial part of the trek, he’d be silent, attentively listening to their surroundings no doubt listening and feeling for any sign of the demoness.
And just as he’d have estimated, from within the forest as they’d reach the edge, they’d hear a blood curdling, bestial roar from within accompanied by a large flash of crimson lightning, the sound of destruction and what was likely the demon rampaging within.
“...should be safe enough here.” He would eventually say, once they had reached the edge, close to the area where Isidore had dealt with the hounds and the hunter earlier. “Now to answer your questions…Silk weavers. If you mean the creatures that eat flesh and produce extremely durable silk, then yes. You’ll likely find them near their primary habitat towards the roots of the great tree.” It looked like for a moment he wanted to say more, but would move to Isidore's other question.
“As for the other thing…demons are divided into five different clans based on their Origin. The Demons of Naraheim were formed when they crawled out of the old Demon Gods blood. As a result, they’re…well, vicious, violent and tend towards extremely bestial tendencies. Their blood, conversely, is also an extremely potent magical medium, which is why they possess extreme physical regeneration. They use their own blood to fuel any magical spells they wish with almost zero ill side effects and they can also use their own blood to replenish any lost that they had, effectively almost creating a loop of near infinite magical energy.” He’d sigh, though his mouth would turn into a smirk.
“Almost. Its not a completely perfect process, even if its near perfect. Eventually they’d run out of steam. The best tactic when fighting them is to make it so they can’t regenerate…or simply outlast their regenerative abilities, if you can stand it. The one we just fought though…I’ve ran into her a few times since I arrived here a few days ago, and I can only conclude one thing - she’s one of the seventy two arch demons and as things stand, fighting her without a solid plan of some sort is just going to end with everyone being smeared into the ground as a bloody stain.” Whoever this guy was, he seemed extremely knowledgeable about demons.
And that made him valuable, doubly so because he seemed staunchly on the side of killing demons, rather than researching them. Chewing on some of the dried food he brought along with him, Isidore recalled the demoness’s seeming resilience to fire, and concluded that dunking her in a magma bath wouldn’t work out too well. Infinite magic, infinite regeneration, and the status of being the big boss of demons, who nevertheless had no mercy for her own kind. But more importantly…
“So
that place wasn’t the roots of the great tree.”
“No, they are. All these roots belong to it…or used to be, but that’s neither here nor there. If you’re looking for the silk weavers, they used to be here, but since that demon started rampaging around, she’s destroyed a number of nests. Probably tried eating her. Not a good idea.” He’d sling his bow across his shoulders, glancing towards the burned city in the distance with a seeming impatient huff.
“I’m sure you can get back from here. My goal lies in the opposite direction.” He’d start to walk off, and assuming Isidore didn’t stop him he’d not say another word.
“Got a name?”
“Vikas, though we probably won’t be meeting each other again. I only helped this time because someone asked me to.” He’d rather cryptically state, though he’d not mention any more than that.
“World’s a small place,” Isidore replied. “See you around.”
And with that, he walked off. Some healing and a nice long bath would do much to make him feel civilized again. After that? Well, there were business dealings and late night rendezvous to get to. Time didn’t wait even when Isidore felt like he was hit by a truck, after all.
Ah, right.
“Gotta get you something fancy too, don’t I?”
Octavia would bark affirmatively at Isidore’s question, seemingly agreeing that yes, she did indeed deserve something fancy.
