The regrets of darkness [Crystal Swords Battle]

[Jake Narmolanya]

Jake retched and vomited as Amari straightened his broken leg. The half elf's slender shoulders shook and his eyes watered, but he kept a loose grip on the dragon blade just the same. He clambered to his feet gingerly as the redhead finished her healing magic. The leg still hurt - by Haide's fires, it hurt - but he could move on it, to a certain extent. He stumbled up to the same plateau as Amari and the thin man, Shinsou, whose name had been shouted several times.

The warriors gained a temporary respite as the first wave of foes fled, but then the cause of the enemies' fear loomed out of the lake. The tentacled giant slashed the air and sent its shadow energy arcing outward. Jake found himself shoved to the floor, going over awkwardly on his ankle but still managing to tumble into a roll and find his feet. He swayed as he stood, digging the tip of the dragon blade into the ground to stave of a spell of dizziness. He could feel the scalding pincers of panic and shock scraping at his muscles for purchase.

"Breathe," Jake reminded himself aloud, lifting his sword into a low guard, "breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe..."

The ethereal head of a great mustachioed serpent appeared above Jake. Long, the dragon, opened her fanged maw and expelled wave upon wave of long, thin wooden spikes. They peppered the tentacle-giant's body, having absolutely no tangible impact on the monster. But the ability did not come without merit. Jake gazed up at the image of the dragon's head wide-eyed, watching it fade to nothingness. He'd felt a surge of energy from the sword when he spoke the word "Breathe."

Could it be that simple?

"Try talking to your swords!" He called weakly to the other warriors, still somewhat breathless from the shooting pain in his leg. "That sounds silly," he said, mostly to himself. He looked up as the sword-wielding tentacle-monster bore down on them. Several wooden spikes were superficially stuck in the beast's flesh.

I hope the others have some stronger powers, he thought. Chunks of wood would do little good against the oncoming menace. Lake slime dripped from the strange creature's many appendages, and it brought a rank smell with it. Jake had an inkling to set it (and the wooden stakes embedded in it) on fire, but he waited to see if the lightning mage might strike, knowing that the lingering moisture would make the beast more vulnerable. Instead he crouched with sword upraised, ready to attack or defend as the beast drew nearer.

[Philomel]

The earth is beneath me. The earth is above me. The earth is beside me. The earth is within me. The earth is upon me. The earth is around me. I am the earth, and it is me.

I am the earth.

Whumph.

Heavy horns met heavy head as she slammed her way through the last of the close-by threatening corpse-monsters. As the reverberations of her powerful horns' strike travelled down the length of the consumed body, her two hands - large, ape-like appendages the size of dinner plates - with a white sword in each swept up from behind her, around and high into the air. Holding them aloft in the shape of a cathedral arch, the part-beast that was Philomel van der Aart bellowed out a frightening bleat before crashing them down.

Down to the creature now smaller than her, down with the strength of five ordinary men. Down with vehemence, anger and vice, down to the dulled animal, made barely concious by her headbutt.

Her two blades, one mythril and the other the same shining crystal that all others had, sliced to the neck before her. Smoothly they decapitated head from shoulders before even one tentacle could raise a limb to try to aggravate against her. Dead, once more, the black and green corpse collapsed to the cavern floor and the enraged half-goat snorted her approval.

"Good. Done," said she in the only language her throat could make. Pure goatish.

The bleats rang out across the echoing chamber, joining with numerous other cries. As she did a voice came to her head and muttered, Philomel. This is barely over. Turning, her livid beastly eyes caught those hot golden ones of the flaming dire-fox beside her, standing proudly over his last own victim as it burnt to a second grave with flickering crimson embers.

His muzzle pointed over to the lake, to where they had last seen Shinsou. Now he had danced and spun his bloody way over to the red-haired Amari and Stormy pair, calling them to his side and calling them to come with. Together now, the three of them - and somewhere, else, the half-elf boy (saying something odd about talking to their shining swords) .... and another new girl - were easing their way back away from a new larger foe, far greater than any before. Possibly twenty feet or more in size its head almost brushed the lowest of the blue crystals adorning the ceiling. Rounding against it were the newly formed pack of warriors, plus a golden knight with gleaming sword, and the great lumbering beast seemed to be intent on catching them out. Attacks were being made, but none that were downing it yet, and it occurred then to the gost-head that was Philomel that the best action right now was just that - action.

She roared, as best as her massive goat-head could, and flailed her arms baring her swords. As she did she leapt high into the air, and landed, smack, alongside the warriors. Right next to Shinsou whose wide eyes only shared a hint of the awe that they all felt in this battle of battles. When she landed, her massive right hoof struck the ground, and with it came a jarring and a shuddering of the earth. Things moved, rocks parted for her, stones shook as a thin but steadily widening crack appeared from under her hoof and was sent striking to where the behemoth stood. An earthquake, weak at its beginning, but able to topple mountains at its apex, hurried towards the giant, splitting the earth in a narrow vertical canyon.

[Storm Veritas]

”Wake up, you ugly whore!

“Emperor Hirohito!

“Hocus F*cking Pocus!”

This f*cking sword, gods…

Inspired by the heroic efforts of the young man, Storm had tried talking with the rat-headed sword. His magic was feeling drained, his body tired, and the giant abomination swung dark energy in dramatic, terrible waves at them all. Frankly, he’d try anything at this point, as the cluster of what some could call heroes stuck together in an effort to fend off the monster. The focus was now this one cyclopean awful, whose arc of terror would have cleaved the wizard in half if not for a desperate tumble over a naked shoulder. Arising again in his now wet pants and soaked skin, Veritas did his best to ignore the content of the viscous, black water that stuck to him.

Shinsou and Amari worked feverishly, diving away from the oncoming assault and taking cover. Elsewhere the friendlier behemoth Philomel sending a rippling split of earth at the giant.

Glaring down with a frustrated anger at his sword, Storm spat at the metal, which now glowed a soft blue, although offered no other productivity aside from mile illumination.

Fanstastic. Put my ass on the line in exchange for a glorified lightbulb. Terrific tradeoff.

Looking backwards at the brave young man who had suffered a horrific leg injury, Storm considered a response to the suggestion of magic words. He was torn; the youth was bold and right-minded, but also was now playing with the grown ups. To survive this long, Storm surmised the young one must be pretty tough, and the experienced old bastard of a man steeled himself to speak.

“Good idea, kid, but words ain’t doing shit with the hunk of metal.”

Of course. What else!?

The metallic nature of the blade was the only asset the master of electricity presumed it offered, but it wasn’t slight. The ability to fire the entire sword as a ballista’s arrow would be useful, and there would only be one target. Releasing his grip on the blade, Storm produced a small field of electromagnetism, which seized the sword before it could crash to the ground below.

“The eye! Take it’s f*cking eye out, see how that goes!”

The sword hovered before the magician, who waited for the earthquake to affect the massive, looming atrocity. It hummed in place, ready to fire out as a great luminescent dart. He walked backwards towards Shinsou, Amari, and Jake, who had tumbled to evade the energy blast of the great monster. As soon as the great hulking beast stumbled, he would receive an eyeful of Rat.

…or so went the plan

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

I'm not hating that plan; it's not total shit.

Motivated by the electromancer's plan, Shinsou had decided he had reached the end of his tether with both the undying hoard and the Goat; which up until now had been as effective as a chocolate fireguard in a blast furnace. With the rat-headed sword hovering at the end of Storm's fingertips, the Telgradian was ready to offer up the crimson sword as a makeshift missle in that very same electromagnetic field.

At the end of the day, it would at least give the blade some use.

Unlike Storm, his magic wasn't draining him. The behemoth from the lake launched a crest of lightning quick dark energy right at him, cleaving chunks of rock from the cavernous maw and carving huge gashes in the stone ahead, but the Phalanx form of his Enpera Kurohitsugi was quicker. The chain that he had created snapped apart and reformed into a hexagonal barrier right before Shinsou's eyes. A tsunami of black smashed into the magical shield, forcing Shinsou back a number of paces before the sickly black crescent shattered like glass and cascaded in all directions; parried into various uninhabited parts of the cavern.

The gathering of adventurers that had formed on Shinsou's mark now stuck together in an effort to hold their ground against this apocalyptic beast. It was then, as the Telgradian grew closer in proximity to his charges, that the Goat suddenly jolted to life. As if startled from a deep sleep, the blade hissed suddenly and glowed with the hue of tempered steel. Five flaming skulls tore through some sort of unfathomable cosmic continuum and manifested right before the point of the sword.

Shinsou could feel the heat radiating from them, searing the flesh on his high cheekbones. Each of the skulls suddenly turned in unison to face their quarry; the terrible cyclops, and screamed like banshees.

"Fucking hell!" The Telgradian exclaimed as he covered his ears to protect his eardrums from rupturing, "I didn't say a damned thing. I have no idea how it works; emotions? Magic? Fuck it, who cares?"

Shinsou noted that as the blade swayed, the skulls swayed with it. They seemed to be following it right up until they locked their collective gaze onto their enemy. This odd characteristic of the blade was the only thing it seemed capable of doing for now and curiosity was getting the better of the Telgradian. What sort of destructive power did these flaming abominations under his control contain?

“I'm going with your plan. Get the eye."

The skulls hovered momentarily before tearing forward towards the great monster's unprotected eye. Shinsou hoped that Storm's Rat was there to deliver the follow-up and, if they struck true, turn the tide of the fight.

Hopefully, Shinsou would get through the day without being killed by anyone or anything.

[Josette]

In the split second before the disk of ice struck the hard-packed earth, Josette turned from it. The arm that clutched her sword arched in protection over her eyes, and the woman hunched to protect her more vulnerable body parts. There was distance between herself and the threat, but she could only dream of what was enclosed in that ice, if it were truly ice at all.

A dream. Was that what this was? Only a moment before, she had been locked inside her cheap room in an Ettermire inn. Now, she was surrounded by death, destruction, and demons unlike any she had laid her eyes upon. Or perhaps these were the demons of some god-forsaken hell that she had been banished to. Were the knights who fought beside her as damned as she? She heard the shattering of ice behind her, not entirely unlike the sharp splintering of thick glass. And when it struck her, peppering her breeches and thin tunic, it cut like glass as well. Josette winced, clutching her sword in one hand, and its sheath in the other, so tightly that her knuckles lost their color. Definitely not a dream.

When the raven-haired woman finally straightened, and surveyed her surroundings, she grew as rigid as if she too had been trapped in ice. The water sloshed madly, as if a great storm raged atop it, but the chaotic waves that tumbled were far too random in their choreography to be a result of strong winds. Rather, the murky lake rocked as if handfuls of children were leaping into it. Or, in this case, hoards of devilish creatures spilling out.

"Lords and ladies," the knight breathed, in reference to no lord or lady in particular. It was a phrase her father had used often, and she nearly bit off her own tongue when she heard herself say it. She might have, had her attention not been consumed entirely by the emergence of a true horror. It dwarfed the battle raging below it, like an enormous form leaning over a chess board, considering its next move. And she was a mere pawn, unable to do anything of true value. All she had accomplished since her arrival was to end a handful of the tiny creatures; as the newest player took center stage, that feat felt woefully inadequate. In fact, as the woman sent a panicked glance around, she watched the head of a great dragon take shape over another soldier's head. "Lords and ladies," she hissed again. What was she even doing there?

As if to demonstrate her incompetence, the woman collapsed, pressing herself flush to the cool dirt as the slice of black shadow slipped silently toward, then over, her prone form. Only once before had she felt so worthless. Only once before had she felt so scared. And on that night, she had promised herself that she would never feel that way again. Her eyes stung with tears as she squeeze them closed, praying to gods she had previously given up on. Gods, she believed, had also given up on her.

"Have hope, young one."

The voice filled her head like an answered prayer, and for a few stumbling beats of her heart, she thought the gods had heard her. But as the voice tugged at recent memories, not yet shoved to the back of her consciousness, her eyes flashed open once more.

"Arianne?" She gulped the word, a drowning woman struggling for air.

Horses could not smile, and the even the concept was ridiculous. But she could hear a smile in the reply. "Listen to Ma. Trust her, and she will guide you."

Ma? she mused wordlessly. But as quickly as Arianne had filled her mind, she could feel the emptiness of the spirit's departure. Her chapped lips moved to question once more, when suddenly, her right hand grew suddenly warmer. Perplexed, and still trembling, Josette climbed into a kneeling position. Now, the sword in her hand throbbed, a sensation similar to pressing her palm to her own galloping heart.

The war raged around her. The more capable thundered closer to the tentacled beast, their swords careening through the air, aided by magic far superior to her own. They hardly noticed her, and in that moment, she no longer noticed them. Instead, she lifted her sword to eye level. "Are you what I am to trust?" she whispered, though the sounds of battle tore the words from her lips. "Ma?"

Golden light blinded her. A startled cry came without thought, and she might have turned away had she not noticed the arrival of yet another player. The form was solid enough that she could not see through it, but its edges shimmered as if constructed entirely of warm sunlight, or shimmering lightning. Four hooves rumbled like thunder, filling the cavern, and rivaling the symphony of movement and shouts.

At first, she swore it was Arianne; the rich gold of her coat was the same, and the size was similar as well. But as Josette looked closer, she recognized subtle differences. Rather than a straight black mane and tail, this horse shimmered with dazzling shades of red, as if strings of fine rubies had been woven into the dark hair. No, the woman corrected suddenly. Not rubies. Fire.

"Lords and ladies," Josette mumbled once more.

[Hysteria]

Sir Soliel saw the roof of the crystal cavern suddenly shift as his torso was separated from his legs. The knight smashed into the ground with a clanging thud and his sword tumbled away. He tried to move, tried to cry out but there was only darkness.

The giant Shadow lifted its jet-black sword in front of its eye. The shards of wood peppered its body but failed to find true purchase in his flesh. The creature lowered the sword and made to ready another attack when the ground ripped apart beneath his feet. The water dove into the opening cracks, flicking up and sending a spray over the warriors. The behemoth tried to steady itself as the flaming steed cut across the shallow water and flaming goat heads through the air. Both smashed into its form as he tried to swat them away. The goat heads struck the creature’s face, while the horse his leg. The monster fell backwards into the water. The wave of black liquid that shot upwards extinguished the brilliant flames of Ma and the flaming goat heads as the creature pushed itself up and the blue crystal blade of the Rat arched through the air towards Shadow’s unprotected eye.

We are such stuff as dreams are made on; and our little life is rounded with a sleep.

A feminine voice echoed through the cavern. The last of the rushing horrors had fled, leaving only those smashed and cut during the conflict. Around the warriors was a wasteland with dozens of bodies, those defeated by the crystal blades and those cut down by Shadow.

Why should a dog, a horse, a rat, have life, and thou no breath at all?

A figure hovered in the air in front of Shadow. She was smaller, but there could be no doubt that her small tentacled form was akin to the giant. She was far more feminine, with lines of porous chitin melded over unmistakable female biology. She held the Rat in one hand and a small black crystal dagger in the other. She had stopped the blade before it had struck her brother’s eye.

How now? A rat? Dead, discarded and unused. For a ducat, dead and unseen. Shu! Hide!

The horror Dream lifted the rat blade towards the warriors. The blue crystal blinked with energy as it seemed to delay its response to the command. Suddenly a mist burst forth from the blade and both it and Dream disappeared from sight. The mist faded and only the light of the crystals and Shadow remained. The giant pushed himself to his feet, water rippling off his form and pouring back into the dark lake. The creature walked forwards. The tentacles on his back sprung out and twisted around his body to strike at the warriors. The shot forwards in an unending cascade of striking everything in his path. Ten tentacles, each one striking the ground in random pummelling. The creature was not targeting anything, he was targeting everyone. He walked out of the lack and towards the one that had attempted to take his eye. His slow gait would give the warriors time to react, but not much. Blood oozed from the spot in his leg where Ma had struck, and several burns lined his face from the goat Yang.

Dream was standing behind the group, her form cloaked in the magic of Shu the rat. She lifted her own dark crystal dagger and pointed it towards Philomel. A dozen tiny black blades burst from the tip and cut through the air with deadly silence. Each blade carried a dark corruptive magic, able to tear through a creature’s energy. One strike would cause exhaustion, four nearly immediate collapse and any more death. Dream would not allow another earth quake.

[Philomel]

It was simple enough really. An easy decision.

There was no 'f*ck there is another one,' no 'how the hell did this just get weirder.' None of that. There was only a pause, a shift in the atmosphere, a glimpse caught in a dire-fox's eye. All those who believe that Philomel van der Aart walks alone in the earth is an idiot, all those who presume to think that she can be caught by a strike at her back, as the last whispers of her mighty earthquake fell away to stillness.

How the faun knew of the attack was by the soft thump behind her. Tapered ears twitched, slanted pupiled eyes stared into space, whilst the beastly head, not currently the most used to thinking logically. It took time to turn, to tilt the caprine head and groan. Groan at the sight beneath the hooves of the gargantuan half-goat, half-human. Groan, cry, bellow, howl shriek ...

Veridian had seen, and had taken, the full brunt of the dark magic blades, or those that had seen their mark. Some whistled off into nothingness, others still yet spat into the ground as they had been beaten off track by his dire-paws. The rest, perhaps three in all - those he had not managed to distract - dug into his fur. They slammed into his being as he had seen, had leapt, had saved his beloved's life. Now he was downed, and his flames were steadily burning away to mere sparks and smoke as he struggled to breathe past the black poison filling his body.

Veridian ...

Just get on with the fight, Veridian's voice filled her mind. It was hoarse, full of pain and slipping away. Get on with this, whatever this is. This trick stole us from our home and gives no reason but to try to kill us ... fight. Go.

His golden eyes slid closed as his form could no longer keep up the energy of fulfilling his enraged, dire form. Whisps of vapour took away his body, leaving just the natural, small body of the red-russet fox, barely able to keep on the edge of conciousness.

I will be fine. I will hold on until I can.

The massive half-breed beast watching him from above. Barely, did it move, and neither did it - she - cry. All Philomel did was stare, her unusually large heart beating and pounding, eyes growing madder with rage. As she listened to Veridian's breathing grow more labourious she did not grow worried, nor sorrowful. Instead, in her current form, the feeling that grew was fury. Fury at what had been done to him, fury at them stolen from their lives to this place. Fury at the fact he never needed to take the pain for her again, had they been left to their lives. Had not this bloody tentacle world whisk them away.

The bellow. It filled the cavern, sending the very crystals in the ceiling shaking, rattling in their solid holds. Turning her face towards where the black pellets of death had come from, Philomel knew in that second there was a second villain to take care off. Though she could not see precisely where it was, for there was no clear form in the rocky shadows, she knew by judgement of where the black magical bolts of agony had come from. She tried to relate these thoughts, but they only came out in a string of bleats. Quite frustrated now, and full of boiling rage, she sucked in her breath and gave the earth her intent. Rocks shook around her, shaking as they were awoken with a call.

One second passed, a single moment of quiet before the storm - and then they rose. From up to ten metres around her rocks and stones, each no bigger than a healthy apple, flew with meglomania towards her. They wrapped themselves around her lower torso, over the skin already naturally as strong as steel, knocking all senseful beings on their way over. They clung there, held by purest magic, as the faun swung up her two swords once more. Calling out now the name of her magical sword - the beast she had slain in order to gain it - she jeered and cried. In thick bleating tones.

But the Rabbit sword still understood. And answered.

Wrapped in an essence that seemed blessed by the sun, thick vines poured out from the very blade of the sword. They were like the tentacles of the creature's themselves - yet much more natural. Much more connected. Much more ... Drys. Philomel breathed in slowly as she watched them swiftly develop into a more physical form and grow faster than any other plant. Curving over her hands, coiling and sprouting small leaves they raced down either side of her body to spin down her mighty legs. There they bloomed with bright green foliage and settled to a peaceful existence around Philomel's hooves. As she felt them tighten somewhat, her lips parted and she lifted her eyes back up to the invisible villain that was their attacker.

For in her goddess-blessed glory she could sense what these vines longed to do. She could connect to their secret conciousness and allow herself to become absorbed in their history, their past. What the Rabbit sword had been, what these vines gave to those who bore it. What the purpose of these vegetative wonders was.

Softly, she spoke to them, telling them that she was willing. That, by the grace of Drys, she was honoured to be chosen.

And the vines connected to the proud sword, now pointed directly at Dream the Unseen's heart, responded. Instinct and wonder, faun and rabbit. Powerful, Philomel leapt, her own natural ability accelerated by the magic thriving connected from sword to hoof. Upwards she flew, magificent she rode the air, accelerating the whole hundred or so metres that separated her from her new foe.

[Jake Narmolanya]

The dragon blade carved intricate patterns in the air as Jake fended off two of the tentacle-monster's appendages. His wounded leg still wobbled dangerously beneath him, limiting his movement to short, awkward steps. Still, the callused hands clasped on the sword's hilt flowed through the forms they knew so well. He countered the striking tentacles again and again, until his blade dripped with slime, until he found occasion to slice through one of them. The thing slithered and thrashed like a dying snake as it fell to the ground, and Jake kicked it away.

The cavern seemed to shake with the bellowing of the great goat woman, who appeared distracted by another foe behind them.

How can we possibly hope to triumph over such a beast? Jake wondered as his bad leg almost gave out beneath him, what could we do to it that would... of course! The half elf limped closer to Amari, Shinsou, and Storm, and then created a small portal behind the four of them. The portal's twin opened up directly behind the monster's lumbering legs.

"Guard my back!" Jake called to the others, and stabbed at the tentacle-beast's hamstrings, his sword passing through the gap in space. The portal dissipated and the half elf stumbled, the use of so much Tap energy exhausting him. He shivered despite the sweat of exertion, feeling the chill brought on by the lake's icy water.

"Need to warm up," he murmured, transferring the grip of his sword to his right hand. In his left he summoned a ball of flame, holding it rather than casting it, allowing it to warm his hands and body. As more tentacles assaulted him he fended them off with sleek movements of his sword and swathes of arcane flame.

As he fought Jake felt the hard hands of exhaustion threaten to strangle him. He breathed deeply and cleared his mind, focusing on everything and nothing in the same moment. The sword that had grown heavy in his hand became light once more, almost an effortless gesture. The gouts of flame that seemed to drain the very life from him became as natural as breathing, for more energy from the Tap flowed into him with every breath. Jake settled into a steady rhythm of fighting, a pace he could maintain for as long as necessary.

We will not falter before this beast.

Jake felt a certain kinship with the other wielders of the crystal blades. Even with the fallen Sir Soleil, who had been a brave knight, facing his death as any warrior could hope to. Jake fought for the knight. He fought for Amari, for all her faults, a close friend. He fought for all the others in the cavern, who battled alongside him, employing their own talents.

Will it be enough? The half elf wondered, or will we need to combine our powers somehow? Do the crystal swords have more abilities than they've shown? He gripped the dragon's hilt in both hands once more, and focused on channeling his fire magic through the sword, aiming to send a great blast of flame directly at the behemoth's head.

[Storm Veritas]

Watching the sword find its place in the eye of the great terrible beast gave Storm a ringing satisfaction, like an archer satisfactorily splitting a bulls-eye at county fair. Despite his age and experience, the warrior pumped a fist quickly, flexing his sinewy muscle as he taunted the behemoth beneath his breath.

”Gotcha, bitch!”

The monster wailed backwards, splitting into multiple forms, when a large dark female apparition gripped the sword. Her coming was foretold by an omnipresent voice, and her gentle, nimble frame moved with a grace and smoothness. As quickly as she arrived she took action. The blade burst into a splash of water, and the feminine form was gone.

Son of a bitch! That sword can make people invisible and I’ve been swinging it around like a goddamned chimp.

There was no time for adulation of the floating specter before the original menace regained form. It was far less humanoid now, the hulking, twisting mass of flesh and anger outdone by its own flailing black tentacles. They snapped out at him like bullwhips, the group around him no doubt similarly menaced. With magnificent agility, the magician vaulted over the first striking length of boneless muscle, catching footing quickly before somersaulting over a second tentacle which appeared headed for his throat. Like the mongoose, Storm Veritas sprang about with speed and finesse, flailing the bright kris dagger which appeared blinding. He slashed with furious desperation at the inhuman limbs. Sadly, there were too many cobras.

It was the fourth tentacle that served the wizard his undoing, clutching and grabbing at his heel as he swung his knife. With the force of ten horses, the appendage ripped the foot out from under him, sending him crashing hard upon the wet stone surface. His head knocked violently against the ground, an immediate blackness drowning his peripheral vision and leaving his vision tunneled and hazed. The splashing waters, the screams of men, the slash of sword, and whip-snap of tentacles all faded behind the shroud of a high pitched buzzing noise which dominated his brain.

Ungh… the blade. Where’s the blade!?

The dagger had fallen from his grip; the giant was pulling him in now at a lower force, obviously preoccupied but nonetheless lethal. The aging adventurer rolled onto his belly, moving the tunnel of view about frenetically until his gaze found the shining dagger a few feet from him in a shallow puddle of the darkened mess. He pulled forward, straining against the tentacle, unable to make progress and the blade outside his reach when an epiphany struck him.

The blade is metal, you f*cking idiot.

A deep breath, and Storm reached again for the blade, his fingertips two feet from the dagger. A small, simple electrical field was issued, and the dagger floated dutifully into his hands, as though an extension of his very flesh. Only when the small weapon rejoined his hand did the veteran acknowledge the large series of scratches and cuts, leaving his hands raw and bloodied. With clumsy speed, he spun once more upon his backside, yielding a little ground to slash violently at the tentacle, still gripping his ankle with fury.

“Get… the… f*ck… off!”

Three swings was all it took for the precise knife to cleave the thin end of the tentacle, sending the wizard rolling backwards over his shoulder and back up to a knee. His eyes arose to the giant, hoping for a stroke of luck.

[Josette]

Mingled surprise, excitement, and horror fled her lips in a choked gasp. The equine form summoned with Ma's help had charged the beast, exhibiting a power and grace unmatched by anything Josette had ever seen. The force of the strike had sent the enemy reeling, tumbling back into the murky water as pitifully as an unstable child. The initial delight had been extinguished just as quickly as the horse's fiery form, as it was swept back by the dark wave. And as the behemoth climbed back to its feet, she could feel the fury pouring off of him like the small streams of water. Her short-lived victory had merely succeeded in infuriating the monster further.

His massive tendrils cracked across the ground, a sharp sound akin to gunshots that echoed in the roomy space. The knight's hands began to tremble again as she clumsily secured her sheath to her belt. She had to move, had to do something, but her mind could not quite tell her exactly what that something was. Josette raked a hand through her hair, a damp mess that fell limply back around her face - she had not even had time to tie it back in her trademark braid before being thrown into the hell that now surrounded her.

“Get… the… f*ck… off!”

The voice was nearly lost to the sounds of the battle, but the deep fury in his words was enough to draw Josette's attention. She rounded on him just in time to see him tumble, released from the grip of of a tentacle with a swing of his knife. As if summoned by the injured limb, a piece of which still lay flopping beside the kneeling man, two more tentacles reared up before him.

The woman lunged, her mind snapping to life at the sudden movement. She raced through possibilities, through potential plans, as her boots scraped across the pebble-littered floor. Should she attempt to use her abilities? The mere thought of trying to locate her place of magic in such a hectic place terrified her. Should she ask for Ma's help again? In truth, she was still unsure of how that had happened in the first place.

So instead, Josette thrust her sword back into its sheath, and squatted behind the downed warrior. "Help me," she stated without fanfare, hooking her arms through his, and lifting. He had a full head on her, but the weight difference was not as stark as it might have been; a lifetime of training had packed pounds of muscle on the woman. Still, she gave a low grunt of exertion as she brought him to his feet.

What now? "We need to back up." Her voice was hollow to her own ears, bereft of the emotion that pulsed through her. The monster provided all the incentive she needed, the two nearest tentacles flailing close enough that they flung drops of water against her flushed skin. They were quickly running out of time.