[center][h3][color=C0392B]Rudolf Sagramore[/color][/h3][/center]

Impact, an agonizing jar stretched over infinity in the double-layered time. It was the sensation of his bones, strong as even they were, fighting against a rebound that seemed endless in its attempt to force them out of place, to crush them between itself and the weight of the commitment and velocity behind his own exceeded limit. Black tongues of flame licked at his arms[sup]1[/sup] as they spilled out from his white knuckled grip, burning through the layers of swirling water bit by bit. Each one met was a steel wall, each one broken another jolt that shook him to the bone.

It was everything he had and more, collected into one single, perfect strike. He'd torn through so much of that barrier from the raw force he had leveled alone... But it still wasn't enough. Even in time with Galahad. With Robin. They couldn't get through.

A storm. A swell. Behind. An oncoming sword.

Pulling away wasn't an option. Retreat was death.

He grit his teeth, the taste of copper filling his throat—

And the last layer shattered as Izayoi's attack struck true, and his efforts were rewarded with a spray of blood not his own as his blackened, burning lance bit deep into Leviathan's hide, one of twinned fangs. Her roar echoed in his hastened ears, and so committed to driving the spear home was he that as its heavy blade bit deeper and deeper into her flesh, he couldn't pull away before her writhing length [i]flung[/i] him off. His lungs inflamed, his muscles flagging, his mind and heart racing still, he tumbled end over end before finding solid footing as he landed—

[i]...Now we're in the thick of it.[/i][sup]2[/sup]

He locked eyes on the aftermath of their assault, just in time to see the Lady of Whorls' massive head dive below the cliffside... and bringing the glittering shard of ruby, still bearing the last wisps of the black flame that had been laid upon it, over the side with her. Maybe his grip had been jostled by the impact. Maybe the moisture had left the haft too slick.

Maybe his luck was already taking its dues.

Either way, he was once again unarmed, in the sternest test the team had ever faced.

Retreat was no option.

He didn't know how much longer the hastes would be laid upon his body, and already Leviathan had emerged anew, swiping with tail and fangs from either side of them, peppering the area with scattered bullets of sea magic. He threw himself to the side. A burst from above forced his instincts to will his body to get the hell out of dodge. The deluges that had wracked the field meant that he didn't know where those paired swords had gone—

One arm reached high over the shoulder. The other low to the hip.

May thy blade chip and shatter. At the speed he lived these next moments, he could not answer the challenge with his voice.

Two more lines of black fire writ upon the world, lending weight to feather-light slashes in one hand, and length to the short but potent fang in the other.[sup]3[/sup]

The enemy, ahead and behind. He had been flung far enough away to be clear of the lashing tail, which already had Izayoi setting herself to work on it.

Therefore, somebody needed to cover rear guard.

He pivoted on his heel, choosing the closer target and throwing himself [i]low[/i] to skid under the snapping jaws, his anointed speed carrying him far, too far to retaliate, unless he arrested his motion [i]immediately[/i]—

The flame of the rondel bit deep into the earth at the base of the abandoned shrinegrounds as Rudolf slammed hit home, trusting the stiff and sturdy metal within the heavy fire to hold fast as he flung all that momentum back around, a great burning wheel upon a sudden axle. His teeth grit as his arm felt like it might tear right off from the unfamiliar strain.

But more importantly, at the edge of that terrible centrifuge a burning arc was cast into the base of the mighty sea serpent's skull, before she could even pull her head back for another swipe.

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[*][sub]1. Granted, because of our symbiosis-adjacent arrangement here, the only thing actually getting [i]burned[/i] by these is the water he's trying to get through in the attack. While it's easiest for a meathead like him to consider his luck as wood on a campfire, things would get very out of control if the manifested flames could recursively burn more luck than he spent on sparking them. And if self-immolation was on the table, you can imagine how anyone getting to this point would be an unsustainable prospect.[/sub]

[*][sub]2. Hey hey people. Like I said, hearing a [i]lot[/i] more from me. In this instance that's a good thing— you'll need [i]somebody[/i] to keep you company while the kid retreats into a shell of reactions.[/sub]

[*][sub]3. I do have to mention how barbaric that practice is. Are those people swordsmen or shamans? You would think somebody steeped in that kind of animism and/or spiritualism for five years would be a little more careful about where he spends his own fate, but even my warnings fell on deaf ears. And I'm in his head, directly benefitting from the trade.[/sub]
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