The explosive blast Storm had fired down upon the archer appeared to be for naught; a pair of crossed daggers seemingly denying his energy. The wizard began to float down in a controlled descent, manipulating the space beneath his feet in a sort of hovering action. This trick wasn’t particularly useful, save perhaps for avoiding long falls, but the magician always relished in the move, as it looked extremely cool.

Oh, holy shit.

After dismissing what appeared to be the entire electric torrent, the ranger retorted with a preposterous flurry of rainbow-tipped projectiles. Without solid ground beneath him to serve as footing for an acrobatic leap, the experienced buffoon Veritas realized his serious gaffe. He had only one option; embrace the fall.

Releasing his channel of magnetic field, the wizard plunged helplessly down, his slisk-skinned dress shoes splashing a tiny wave of acidic awful up to the high calves. The reflexive leap was near instant, tumbling forward and to his left, a waving right hand protecting his face from the onslaught of arrows that sought to obliterate him. Beneath him, the acid had taken hold of his clothes, and it was hungry.

All the awful things seemed to hit him at once. The astringent scent of burning acid screamed loudest at his feet, as a pair of brutal red arrows exploded at his stomach. A single blue bolt took purchase of his flexed right bicep, and a long black arrow bludgeoned his gauntlet. Despite the magnificent armor of Moonwing’s scale, the black arrow completely numbed his hand, the Rat falling from his grasp as the salty wizard hit the ground in a heap, billowing dust forward at his enemy and back into the thirsty acid. None of the pain was so acute or horrific as the acid burn itself; the relentless burn was merciless and savage. Combat was unyielding; there was no time for pity.

Just get up. Don’t look down, your feet are a goddamned shit-show. Just get up. Act tough. Don’t look down or you and your limp spine are half as likely to pass the f*ck out. Act tough.

With a mighty groan, the electromancer gripped his sword in his left hand and drove it into the earth, pivoting the tip of the blade to drive his body upwards, his eyes a hazy white of gathered energy and agony. His pants were tattered and torn, shoes effectively gone, with a series of fast-growing bubbles and open sores festering as his flesh melted in a dizzying parade of pain. The experience was unholy, while the blue barb was spreading a wave of numbness throughout his arm. With an angry, dismissive wave, the Serenti champion knocked the tip of the Rat through the bolt, popping the barb from his arm in a fresh wave of searing horror.

Feet are f*cking dead; nowhere to run. Clock is ticking on consciousness; I need Attila to get me the hell out of here. Call that big brave beautiful idiot, and he’ll march his way direct into the line of fire, making him a hell of a steak but a terrible ride. Shit. Need a diversion.

Storm knew his options were beneath limited, and left him somewhere between “desperate” and “completely f*cked” in his parlance. The ranger’s abilities were seemingly boundless, and it didn’t seem like the wizard had an answer for anything. Perhaps mystic confusion was his best bet.

With a sharp whistle, the mage fired his right hand into his satchel, clumsily grasping his signet ring, the Might of Moxxilus. He pulled the thing onto the edge of his right middle finger as he extended the rat before him, summoning the extent of his electrical energy. Great sparks flew from his flesh in kinetic blue fragments, the sword returning before him as he struggled to stand tall. Eyes glowing white, Veritas spoke in an ancient tongue as energy pulsed frenetically about him.

“ Latitudo tanta tamque varios vires tuetur maxime vulnerari.”
( And so glows the great facade of strength, which protects the eminently vulnerable.)

His words ringing across the vapid expanse of the wastelands, Storm slipped the ring down upon his upright frame, becoming a stoic, blue-glowing monolith. A wave of rocky protrusions erupted about him, encapsulating the warrior in a chrysalis of motionless thick stone, which rooted itself affixed to the earth. The hum and crackle of electric energy continued to emanate from the periphery of the rock as the lightning master within held tight to his power. Far from the right side, Attila had begun approaching his master, still some ways from sight.

Hopefully this scares this asshole enough to chase him off…