(11) The Grander’s Order v (14) Blood Brothers

[Falcon Darkflight]

Canen was, to say the least, unimpressed by his opponent's lack of dignity. The Nocturn had watched with a careful eye as the sunlight had forced Nathanial to begin his movements, and Canen had looked on with a small satisfaction. After this pleasurable experience, his opponent had then spent his time cutting open his wound containing the snake venom and, in a sickening display, had cupped his own blood, his own lifeforce inbetween his palms in an attempt to use it as a weapon. By the time Nathanial was up to his feet and staggering across the floor, even to the point where it was more like a limping trot, Canen had already planned his counterattack.

I don't know what he thinks he is doing...what kind of a strategy is that?

His pale, smooth hand quickly drew The Valiance from its ivory sheath by his side, the metal sliding out accompanied by a shrill, ethereal metallic scraping that sounded almost calming to listen to, and he raised the flat, polished blade to a high angle. Using the bluntside of the sword he covered his eyes as the shower of potentially toxic blood spattered over his face, lips and scarlet robes. It felt digusting, like lukewarm, stagnant rainwater pattering against his face, only that the blood was carrying the lifeforce of the undead as well as the puss of the venom wound. He could feel the thick crimson liquid form larger streams as the droplets connected and they forked down his face in tiny rivers, before he used the back of his sleeve to wipe his profile clean. He was disgusted. He was insulted. He couldn't think of anything more humiliating. But more than anything, he was now far more determined to break this vamparic nancy boy in two, along with his feeble partner.

"You sicken me..." Canen accused, pointing a bloodstained finger at the offending undead. Nathanial's eyes and expression showed no remorse for his insulting attack and the manner in which he had undertaken it. The Nocturn, blade in hand, pressed forward slowly. His footsteps were slow, intimidating and pressurising down the red carpeted altar towards his foe, the boots pressing large prints into the silky texture of the carpet as he descended like the night on this walking joke that had dared to mock him with such a technique. "...the facade is over. No more games. No more toying around..." His rough, deep throated voice raised a notch as he twirled the polished braodsword from one hand to the other repeatedly, looping the blade through his hands like an act at the circus. His eyes narrowed and intensified in ambience as the looping became quicker and more precise. Nathanial was unarmed and although Canen usually had his reservations about attacking unarmed men he quickly overrid this with the desire for revenge for smothering his face in the foul blood.

It was said that Canen was the last of a dying faith. He had been one of the few Nocturnian warriors to follow the code of the sword. It identified him. It defined him. This silver broadsword was not just a piece of metal that had been forged by a blacksmith. It was not just a tool of war, or something as simple as a weapon to kill with. Or even, for that matter, a sword of justice either. No. It was much more than any of these combined. This sword was an extension of Canen's body and mind. For that, it was one of many things: a monument to his past, to remind him of his birthrights and the people he fought for every single day of his life, perhaps even subconciously. It was evidence of his present, that despite the best efforts of most of those he had encountered during his time who had tried to take his life, he was still surviving. It was a means to a purpose, a representation of the future he was carving for himself. All of these small things combined made Canen's affiliation with his weapon not just a combat-related affair, but a deeply rooted piece of religion that had been the entire cause of his upbringing. At the very least, the Nocturn had earned a reputation with his skills.

"You dare to have thrown the poisoned blood of the devil at me?" He roared, his eyes flaring with rage..."The devil is not welcome here!!"

A second's worth of a side-shot glance back at his partner allowed Canen to monitor Raelyse's progress. At first, it seemed like the ki beam had made a direct hit on the Prince, and a momentary second or two of fear and panic coursed through his veins at the thought of losing him. However, it wasn't long before reason and logic took over and the two magical powers emerged unscathed, clashing and locked in a stalemate. He uttered a slight chuckle as he watched the expression of Raelyse's face turn to one of near absolute boredom, yawning as Whealer tried everything he could to break the barrier. Suddenly, the Ki attack shattered the barrier and struck Raelyse chest on.

There was no more time to watch. Canen had to make his move at Nathanial.

He dashed at his opponent, his pale white Nocturnian flesh spattered in the blood of his enemy, and brought his sword with a mighty swing from left to right in a vicious spin. The edge of The Valiance was not blunt, it was very, very sharp, and was often compared to a katana in style despite its somewhat lumbering and heavy posture. To make things more gloomy for his undead rival, Canen was very effecient at using it.