Pride and Glory (Shinsou vs Storm)

Daylight had finally broken for Shinsou Vaan Osiris, with a crimson sun rising over the beautiful sea of Corone. The city of Radasanth blossomed beautifully in spring, and as the Telgradian swallowed a mouthful of morning orange juice and banged the empty glass down on the oak tabletop he looked out from the second story of his apartment. Below, people from all walks of life began to file into the streets; traders, politicians, children, couriers and all varieties of citizenry busying themselves with their professions and their past-times.

He sighed and looked at his reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall; a momento from his old Whitevale office. His face wasn’t as thin as it used to be, and now there were some lines near his eyes and some colour in the cheeks, but his golden eyes still resonated with life. Shinsou truly felt better for his estrangement from Whitevale, although he still woke in most nights expecting to find the uncomfortable mattress of his Brotherhood dormitory beneath him instead of the his king sized goosedown mattress. Old habits, it seemed, died hard.

The balcony door swung open and Arius, Shinsou’s friend and former Brotherhood advisor, paced in. His shoes tracked a film of thin gravel and dust across the clean laminate. The Telgradian rolled his eyes, cursing that he would now have to clean up later.

“Could’ve wiped your damned shoes, you know. Anyway, what brings you here at this ungodly hour?”

The wiry scientist looked cheery, even for him, with his white-seamed face drawn up in a smile. Shinsou raised an eyebrow. Events that made Arius smile were often events that involved being dragged into some mad situation, usually in the pursuit of some magical lunacy. Nonetheless, the Telgradian gestured for him to sit at the table.

The slender, bespectacled man pulled back a chair and slid his slight frame down in it. Reaching inside his leather jacket, a scarred hand produced a folded piece of parchment and placed it on the table. Arius slid the paper slowly across the oak surface towards a curious Shinsou.

"Two weeks, it took," Arius said in his soft voice. He raked a hand through disheveled bed hair, eyes weary from a natural lack of sleep that most scientists consider second nature. "But I finally got hold of him."

The folded paper that came from the man's hand caught Shinsou’s attention immediately. He picked up the paper and unfolded it, and after a brief glance at the tidy scrawl on the page began to feel a smile spreading across his face. He cleared his throat and wiped his lips, and then read the note.

Quote:

---

Shinsou,

Any time, any place, I’d be more than happy to kick your teeth down your throat.

Today, midday, at the Citadel. Don’t be late, and don’t bring any blended shit. Just the single malt.

When the monks piece you back together, perhaps we can enjoy a glass.

Storm

---

Shinsou crumpled the parchment into a ball and threw it into a nearby trashcan. So, Storm was up for it. His lips curled into a wide smile, displaying his pearl white teeth to Arius. He had worked with the electromancer, and had once even stood against him. Despite all they had been through, Shinsou’s biggest regret was never being able to find out who was better.

Now all that would be settled.

"You've heard about the first time me and him met?" The Telgradian asked his friend, and got a terse shake of the head in return. "It was chaos. I had that lumbering idiot skeleton Elite Optic with me, and he and that prick Rayse Valentino ended up in a melee in the middle of the street in Radasanth, right in the middle of the bastard day. It was a long time ago, but I ended up getting there and squaring off against Storm. He was like a bullet – fast, dangerous but with a body that refused to die. He took my Enpera Kurohitsugi at full power and lived. Not only lived, but sneered at me, even as the blood dripped from his wounds. I liked him immediately."

He raised a hand. "But we never finished that fight. Before long, we were working together, and the more I saw of him, the more I knew I had only seen a fraction of what he was capable of. But I grew too." Shinsou peered at the parchment in the bin - "Now, I want to find out who is better. He came up from nothing to be the leader of the Brotherhood – the sole, rightful leader – and I can’t underestimate him, but I know if I give him everything I've got, I can eat him alive. Then, after that, I will have his back as many times as he needs.”

The Telgradian stood, sliding his chair back and clapped Arius on his back.

“Look after Shira and Stygian for me, Arius, and strip my coat of the metal buckles. I won’t be needing any metal today; swords or otherwise."

Arius nodded. "So, what's your plan?"

Shinsou stopped halfway to the door, collecting his white coat before throwing it and his two treasured blades into Arius's waiting arms.

"What else? I'm going to stand and trade with him, man to man. Magic, fists; it doesn't matter. I'll give him a fight he'll not soon forget."

The luxurious bar at the foot of the Citadel took an odd form in the morning. The romantic, dark motif was scattered from the glare of the brilliant sun pouring in through a skylight that normally let the revelers soak in the stars over drinks at night. Thick, large sofas, typically occupied by high-priced whores and movers were now almost abandoned, and the overpaid staff bustled about cleaning the place. The squeak of washcloths created a bizarre melody, steins chirping as a handsome barkeep prepped his inventory, systematically hanging the pristine glasses from hooks high above the bar. The lone patron this morning stretched himself in a large chair, fashioning a low table into his private ottoman.

“Sir, perhaps a whiskey?” The tall, thin waiter stood by the hip of Storm Veritas, whose steel-soled shoes shined brightly atop the low mahogany coffee table. Nervous, the waiter’s hands trembled as he held a small notepad and pen to take the order. His eyes stayed low, averting from the wizard.

“Relax, champ, don’t shit your britches on my account. Gonna be a big day, but I’ll be keeping everything above board. Just a coffee, double steeped, maybe a touch of hazelnut.” Immediately, the disarming smile of the would-be politico broke any tension in the room, as the lean adventurer flashed his bright white teeth and rested his hands harmlessly across his stomach, running a single finger along the seam of the satin vest that snugly wrapped his lean frame. He was dressed more suitably to represent the government in court, but still held the reputation that led people to see only one thing – killer.

Noon will come early. Gonna need to be sharp to make today work.

The Citadel was an interesting place for Storm. It called to the freaks of Althanas – the beautifully gifted, the monsters, the heroes. Where the experienced electromancer fell upon that spectrum would vary depending on who was asked, but his power was not up for debate. Here, a warrior could push the envelope, as the risk of death was known to be artificial. Here, he could open things up, and see what was left of him. The magician’s self-assessment was brutal, and required confirmation.

Slower than shit now, but the lightning has never felt stronger. Hurts to get out of bed, back and knees feel more like sixty than forty, but my magic leaves me a GOD regardless. Let’s see if I can’t split the earth in half today.

Shinsou was one of the few he could test himself against, but his motivation was much more specifically targeted than a simple measurement of manhoods. When the letter had arrived to him only days ago, Storm’s business dealings immediately ceased to take a throwaway fight with a man who also fluttered from closest friend to bitter rival. For all his silly samurai stylings, Vaan Osiris was every bit as smart as he was lethal. He shared a pragmatic worldview and no shortage of ambition. The fall of the Brotherhood was more tied to the tandem’s joint inexperience than lack of ability, and Storm knew Shinsou simply needed a push.

Sipping gently at the hot, richly flavored crest of his coffee, Storm raised the cup and thanked the now-charmed waiter with a few golden crowns. Turning coldly, the white-blue eyes of the mage tightened into thin slits as he stared in at the cup of swirling brown and steam, feeling the gentle whisper of steam against his freshly shaven jaw.

Sure, it’s nice to give myself a little reminder, put on a show for these peasants, but there’s heavier lifting for today. I need him to remember who HE is, and remind him that these little half-assed gestures of good-natured competition are entirely beneath him.

Our destinies are intertwined, and they involve greatness. Today I shake the cobwebs loose; tomorrow we take our town back.

The funnel wall of the Citadel’s portal snapped and crackled as the electrical substance that comprised it bent to the Ai'Bronne's every whim. Strange, tendril like anomalies morphed and swirled in front of Shinsou’s face as the arena panned into focus. The Telgradian judged the two foot gap between the lip of the portal and what appeared to be some sort of stone path and stepped down perfectly; Shinsou’s foot pressing, for the first time, onto the cold, hard floor of the monk's creation.

A creation from his memories.

Shinsou had recalled every small detail and had sent word ahead to the powerful guardians of the Citadel to work their magic. With an approving nod, the spellsword surveyed the wonderful work that had taken place in his absence.

The glistening surface of a white marble path carved an icy garden in two. It was covered with crispy, frost covered leaves, the kind that could be found in the aftermath of a bitter winter’s morning, and as his footsteps crunched one by one Shinsou cast his gaze to the Telgradian "Council of Five" chamber grounds.

Ah, the nostalgia. How long has it been? Five years? Ten?

Just ahead, that familiar silver gate stood at least three times the height of the ten foot wall on either side of it that encircled the chamber of the Council of Five. It was topped with crystalline spires that glinted like diamonds in the low morning sun. The dome shaped structure was made of some sort of white granite. Finely carved statues adorned the edges of the gate around its massive iron doors. Shinsou had seen the decorations before, although he couldn’t make out any of the statues from memory. Heroically posed warriors, insignias of Telgradia and the Council of Five and assorted coats or arms were some of the more prominent statuary, breathtaking in their beauty and refinement.

As he approached the door, Shinsou stopped to take it all in and then pressed his hand against the iron door on the right. After a bit of a struggle it slowly opened on its massive chrome hinges.

The revered halls of the Council of Five’s chambers were as silent as a crypt, and almost as dark and eerie. In Telgradia, the mausoleum like structure was well guarded and kept away from any official Telgradian military buildings. It was used only to summon the most powerful of warriors, including his father Telos Soltair, and was so scarcely attended that anyone walking its cold corridors could feel an empty chill reverberate down their spine as they peered at the empty walkways. As the heavily reinforced doors slammed behind him, Shinsou settled and took a moment to investigate the replica of the building he had been away from for over ten years

Far over his head, vaults and arches sailed up and converged in a classical array of marble carved embellishments. A row of marble columns rose to the ceiling and created an avenue that extended past the end of the dome chamber in which they stood. At the end of this avenue a white statue of a goddess, shrouded in celestial robes, loomed over the walkway with a single hand held towards the heavens. The floor consisted of a myriad of marble slabs that led to a centre circle underneath the peak of the dome, from which all other passageways through the building were connected. Here, the flooring was laid in such a way that the emblem of the Council of Five was sketched out over the circumference of the room.

Every detail etched. It's probably better than the original.

Shinsou once again set off, walking a straight path between the columns in silence. The lay-out of this section of the building was similar to several of the other royal buildings in the complex; high, narrow windows of colourful stained glass, patterned to portray important events in Telgradian lore. They alternated with the pillars, dark with the lack of any background light. Under these, tucked into coves far into either side of the corridor, were strange pedestals that contained small statues of previous council members. Rows of lighted, scented candles flickered on top of tables positioned either side of these figurines.

Shinsou couldn’t help notice that the Council of Five’s inner chambers was as enormous, and as disquieting, as any other part of the main building from the outside. It was then, as he cast his gaze down, he felt a lone power preparing to materialise at the end of the corridor.

The spellsword stopped, brushing a thread of chestnut brown hair from his face, as his golden eyes steeled onto the forming portal. He took his coat off to reveal a sleeveless black top, baring his arms to the world, and concentrated his trademark dark matter spell into his palms. Instead of producing a projectile, the two dark matter nucleuses instead expanded within their respective hands and cladded Shinsou's fists, like gloves, with a black and purple marbled membrane. He had tried this once in sparring with Josh, and now he would put the dark matter spell to new use here again, in a situation where he was without his sword to aid him.

Come on Storm, don't keep me waiting.

It wasn’t long before the morning ended and the tall would-be barista brought Storm his tab. This could only mean that Shinsou had entered the portal within the Citadel; the wizard had wished not to labor over the thing and not sit too long in the ethereal. Finishing the now-cold last few sips in the small ceramic cup before him, the adventurer delicately laid the empty drink upon the hard surface. The room was still otherwise nearly empty, save a few patrons that pretended to read as they peered at the notorious magician over the tops of their books. By the side of the empty drink, three gold crowns stacked neatly; it would easily double the waiter’s daily haul. Standing quickly, another toothy smile preceded Storm’s farewell.

“Thank you for your time and attention. I appreciate your patience and discretion.”

Shaking hands with the waiter, he enjoyed the surprised and obviously confused demeanor of the attendant. The man was no less than fifty, yet remained nervous around the villain. He smiled in a way that a man does while backing away and trying to pacify a wild dog; these coins could very well be some form of test. Storm’s reputation had a way of growing far and beyond the reality of the situation.

Relax, JEEVES, I’m not going to get your blood on my f*cking linen shirt. Deep breaths, old boy. Deep breaths.

Without another word, Storm excused himself from the café, stopping by the restroom to relieve himself before shuffling to the center hall and it’s glowing portal. The distinct lavender glow, electric hum and scent of burned formaldehyde was unmistakable from around the corner; human-made portals were all the same. He grinned at himself, decades into the whole charade, he still felt the butterflies grow and turn in his stomach. Behind that door waited a friend; a man he knew and respected and once trusted deeply. He knew that true death could not lie behind the door, as the monks of Ai’Bron could heal dragons, rendering the effort to resurrect a simple mortal a pittance.

Mortal? Is that what I am? Seems unlikely at this point. Maybe a question for another day. No hesitation now; the injuries will hurt but you’ll be fine, and this is the first domino to topple Radasanth.

One more deep breath, and the wizard double checked his appearance before stepping through the portal. His vest and jacket buttons were lined up perfectly, cuff links meticulously symmetric. His hair pulled back taut against his head, a little more gray every day but the hair unquestionably healthy, thick and charming. His shoes gleamed from both their polished lacquered tops and gleaming metal bottoms. The daggers tucked neatly in their sheathes behind his hip bones, out of sight and comfortably positioned on either side of his glutes.

Closing his fists, his knuckled popped loudly at his hips, fingers firing open and testing a pulse of energy below him. Upon command, he floated effortlessly an inch above the ground; his powers were perfectly responsive and ready.

Ready. Perfect.

With a final breath, he lowered himself and stepped through the portal.

~~~~~~~

The long, towering hallway was homage to Coronian Empirical Architecture. Thick, ivory columns fell in even rows, the spacing perfect beneath the towering ceiling and the flat floors. Looking about him, the long amphitheater opened before him, brightly lit from suspended lanterns that burned of deep pots of oil, almost entirely odorless. The only scent present was his aftershave and a mild hint of dust; his metal soles clacking loudly and echoing in the grand, empty place. Perhaps one hundred yards before him, the unmistakable soldier.

“Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long…” Veritas bellowed, sensing the echo behind his words. Long sentences would be lost in the round of returning words, bouncing messages and conflating the overall note. “Too much coffee in the shop.”

He marched forward deliberately, his feet an arrow towards Vaan Osiris. The spectacular grin spread across his face, pulsing wider with each thundering footfall. His plan to disarm the inevitable attacker would begin, and there was little Shinsou could do to stop him. As he moved ahead, he could speak a bit more at length, as the echo fell a bit and his message became direct.

“Happy to be here now, I suppose. Hope you’re planning on being gentle; I’m not sure those bald bastard monks will take care of me after what I just did to their men’s room.”

That should catch him off guard. Let’s see that stoicism waver a bit.

If one were to take Storm, fillet his personality from his body and manifest it into something that could physically be explored, Shinsou had come to the conclusion that it would be like slick moorland.

One would find themselves trudging through both dry and wet patches, before losing their footing to a quagmire of political mud here or wandering into a marsh of ruthlessness there. Being around the finely dressed, wealthy and incredibly intelligent electromancer had made the Telgradian realise that there was always an angle being worked, a plan being made or a means to an end being executed to take Storm Veritas from where he was to where he needed to be. It could have been something as subtle as wordplay in a diplomatic tussle, or something as brutal as frying some poor bastard who stood in-between him and destiny. That was, after all, how the man had gotten to the top of the ladder.

But, whatever form it took, there was always something cooking in Storm's mind.

Shinsou Vaan Osiris had not been sure what to expect upon his re-union with his friend, and whether or not that famous Veritas grey matter had been working overtime on an angle just for him. Would he treat him with contempt for resigning his commission? He had been expecting so. Would he demand an explanation for his behaviour when his thousand-strong army appeared on Veritas’s flank outside Radasanth, before promptly disappearing? Shinsou would have done, so he fully expected Storm to ask the same sort of questions.

One thing was for certain, though. Here, he’d be thinking about the next play, the next power grab. So, here he was, joking about the state he had left the gents toilet in.

The Telgradian would have been lying if he had said he hadn’t found it a little funny. Storm had a particularly dry brand of humour; one that appealed to Shinsou and made him feel on a similar wavelength to his compatriot. But that was just it, wasn’t it?

Even something as simple as weaving a simple little quip together to loosen me up is right up your alley. Every word placed carefully; every rise or fall in tone and pregnant pause designed for a purpose. The politico’s tome.

“You’re a master of it, really, aren’t you?” Shinsou’s voice carried across the cold marble, reverberating around the columns of white as the man smiled and shrugged, ”Bullshit, I mean. You know me well enough to know by now that I don’t get fed on it the same as others do.” Not surprisingly, he regretted what he said almost as soon as it left his mouth, identifying it as the product of over-thinking, but that didn’t help to assuage his feelings either.

One-nil to Storm. Might as well have put a big, luminous sign over my head that said “bait”. Just stick to what you’re good at, Shin, which is breaking bones. Let this guy use his mouth all he wants, and you can both flesh out your issues in the corridors later.

The spellsword shook the cobwebs from his mind with a quick spin of the head, and then he stepped forth. Two echoing footfalls disguised an esoteric incantation in Telgradian tongue. His dark matter cladded hands flashed to his sides, palms downwards, spilling rivulets of the marble black energy on the polished stone of the chamber floor. A chaotic hiss followed as each droplet cascaded to the cold marble and reacted to the cooler temperatures.

In the midst of the cacophony, a five foot wall of bright, shining shrapnel ice washed through the darkness in all directions. Dazzling and disorienting, the light disappeared almost as soon as he had conjured it. Shinsou’s immunity to the cold meant he had taken care to avoid harming himself, but still the wave of seething tundra bathed him in shimmering frost. The spell wrought havoc on the column-cast shadows, casting a bright flash into the high vaults and recessed alcoves. The rows of tamed candles that once lit their path now remained only as monuments to the arctic blast; their white fire and wax coated in a layer of permafrost. A faint aroma of balsam overrode the cool scent of frozen moisture. A freezing backdraft lanced through the limp strands of Shinsou’s brown hair.

Behind those strands, his eyes glowed with whorls of white. Storm had seen many of his abilities, but there was so much more about the Telgradian than even his friend knew about.

Perhaps he would find out how much more soon.

Shinsou had always relished in a flair for the dramatic, and Storm’s off-color commentary certainly pulled the warrior out of character for a moment. The returned comment to Veritas showed that the Telgradian was very much cognizant of this, as he was doing his best to deflect the joking and stay on point. Straightforward combat was the preferred format of the Citadel, but that didn’t mean the wizard had to embrace a simple slugfest.

Can’t go toe to toe with Shinsou. He spends his days training on goddamned mountaintops shirtless in the wind while you get shit-faced and bang whores. He’s also a lot younger than you; he’s not going to disappear this time.

After some blithering about power levels or some such nonsense, Shinsou summoned his initial volley. The black hands of seemingly inter-dimensional doom that Storm had witnessed before was not offered; in its stead the stern veteran fired forth a blast of arctic air, most of it being focused in Storm’s general direction.

In spite of his advanced age, the magician could still move. With a tiny bend in the right knee he popped violently left, easily hopping out of the way of the majority of the icy blast. A casual maneuver to avoid what he had considered a silly attack, Veritas landed upon the smooth surface and smiled before noticing the cold burn on his forearm as he spun away from the cold. The hairs on his forearm were entirely frozen, like twisted trees left in the wake of a great fire. Brushing the mildly frostbitten skin, the hair fell to the ground in crumbled, powdery white ash.

Well, shit.

Pivoting from behind the pillar, the grinning villain retorted with an impressed inflection, as he had quietly closed to roughly fifteen feet from the dangerous Vaan Osiris.

“New tricks! I see you’ve added to the repertoire, adding to the tar-slinging business.”

It was a two-phase shot, marginalizing the obviously impressive ice assault and likening the lethal dark magic of Shinsou for pieces of tar. It would burn the soldier, and play directly into Storm’s plan. He would frustrate Shinsou, force him to see the silliness of avoiding the inevitability of the Brotherhood, and return to claim his half of the New World.

“I’ve got a new trick of my own…” Storm unsheathed his two daggers, casually tossing the steel and Delyn into the air like a child flipping a coin. Moving his eyes, the two daggers rocketed through the air behind him, pivoting and driving into the stone pillar some fifteen feet in the air, sending rubble gently to the floor.

“I call this ’The Shinsou’!” With a new smile, Storm lowered his hands, sending down and forward a powerful electromagnetic pulse. He flew high and back into the air, his steel-toed shoes serving as the rudder, before pulsing once more and popping forward, his feet landing delicately on the two daggers.

Obscured from sight, the wizard was delighted with himself, particularly given the fury this would instill in his old partner.

The arching vaults and sanctified alcoves sang to the whisper of Storm Veritas’s magic as the wily electromancer vanished above and behind the etched columns, following the path of his daggers.

The Telgradian muttered to himself on receipt of the latest insult, again allowing his frustration to get the better of him. The words his friend spoke, in the context they were used in, left a bitter taste; it was one thing to surmise that Shinsou was not entirely present during his tenure, but it was another thing altogether to suggest that the former Brotherhood leader had simply up and vanished, or some other such insinuation. Still, Osiris felt a little wound open. The fact Storm had made Shinsou recoil from just two words was proof enough of his talent for getting under skins.

If anything, it made him even more determined to prove himself.

It was then, as the Veritas’s power pulsed through shadow and icy haze, though the arcane winds of the Ai’Brone’s magic, a puzzled expression spread across his glistening face. Storm had melted into the shadows above, but had not resurfaced. Surely, he had not forgotten that Shinsou could sense his movements?

Quick to sling mud and even quicker to get gone. Why are you hiding, you silly bastard? I can sense you now as clearly as I could see you before…

Back in Radasanth all that time ago, the swordsman had tracked him easily before conjuring those abyssal spears from a rift in reality. Then, had they screamed through the heat and haze of that awful melee, wreathed with amethyst arcs of lifeforce, and had gutted Storm to within an inch of his life. Had he forgotten? Or perhaps he had never known about his ability? Was this what the Citadel did to people, with its honeyed whispers of immortality and lack of consequence?

The questions faded from his mind as Shinsou reminded himself that there was always an angle. Perhaps Storm knew he could sense him, and was lulling the Telgradian into a false sense of security? After all, his magnetic prowess made him unpredictable and a man with an imagination like his always had a creative way to kill someone up his sifan sleeves. That was why it was important to end this quickly; and with a few quick calculations, he'd be ready.

Fifteen to twenty feet away is fine by me, so I better put you to bed before you start getting imaginative with your party tricks.

He had never really been one to make his voice heard in battle; after all, the Telgradian was far more content to let his opponents feel his power tremble through their bones, to fear it. This was no exception, friend or not. As he stepped forward, his heels clicking and cracking the thin layer of frost beneath him, the marble floor smouldered beneath the nauseating dark matter that dripped from Shinsou’s cladded palms.

The ethereal purple wreaths of energy that latticed around his hands ceased as Shinsou knelt, spreading his smothered fingers quickly out across the icy stone. The black, viscous membrane of the dark matter pooled beneath his hands before bobbing and bobbling into four vine-like entities. Cast amongst the ancient tiles, the dark pythons rapidly crawled across the floor and crept silently up the reverse of the marble embellishment that the electromancer had foolishly chosen for a perch. The extensions of the dark magic were lost amongst the shadows of the recesses above, but Shinsou could feel them approach their target.

A little more…

The creeping vines curled around the circumference of the pillar, two to a flank, before rearing back to strike at a hovering Veritas. The Telgradian, a smile barely etched, watched on with anticipation.

Time to clip those wings. I call this one, "The Shinsou Strikes Back".

The chittering, slithering sounds of snakes climbing his pillar and post stirred Storm’s attention, as he glanced down to see the conjured serpents move to ensnare him. In response, the wizard’s eyebrows performed their own dance, the confusion at this new trick being novel and somewhat terrifying. With only a moments hesitation, the magician leapt high away from the pillar, twisting in the air as the first of the two black and indigo apparitions smashed headlong into the sculpted stone structure.

Another great trick, but one meant for lesser lots, of course. Warm up shit.

An elegant twist in the air, and Storm pulled for daggers with invisible tentacles, his magnetic force retrieving them dutifully. They left the stone pillars with a subtle snikt before flipping handle first into his hands, and he decended smoothly, seeking Shinsou’s new position as he landed. With his focus on the snakes and the soldier, Storm made a rookie mistake. Failing to account for the icy floor, his feet shot out from under him, sending his shoulders and back to the unforgiving floor before he could brace himself.

“Whore!”

The smack of body on the ground was a great, albeit sub-concussive force to the aging wizard. He was both infuriated at his own incompetence and eager to fire a resonating shot back at his opponent. Time was off the essence, as Shinsou was the true cobra here, capable of striking in a moment and ending his adventure prematurely.

Sitting up only a few inches, Storm pointed the twisted kriss dagger at the Telgradian, loosing two successive blasts of white and blue arcing energy at the old friend. The moment where Vaan Osiris could either be hit, dodge, or deflect the attacks was the only window the former Serenti Champion expected to be given. The buzzing sound that echoed behind the blasts gave him a free moment as he kicked his feet, driving his body backwards and scrambling to find his feet in desperation.

Too old and slow to couple with stupid. Need to be sharper.

The finery-clad Veritas seemed to have a natural talent for turning his misfortune into a window of opportunity, but he was even further aided by a lack of concentration from his counterpart. Shinsou spent a fatal three seconds longer than he should have done observing the stumbling circus act of the Brotherhood's current leader.

As those fleeting moments passed without him reacting, a brace of deadly, searing lightning bolts came screaming forth from the tip of the dagger out of nowhere, hitting the Telgradian's black shirted chest with as much force as the electromancer could muster and smashing his ribs into what felt like a million particles of bone. This was the real Veritas. He may have been a washed up, nicotine stained, borderline alcoholic to the doubters and detractors, but to Shinsou he represented the most dangerous type of opponent; the one who bore his fangs only exactly when he needed to, and one who knew his own limitations enough to know when that needed to be.

Cringing harshly from the blasts, Shinsou lurched violently to the left before crumbling to his knees. A tangy, metallic taste lingered around his teeth and gums and static snapped as his skin touched the cold marble of the floor. His fingers clawed up and writhed as they were immolated in raw, burning electrical power. His attention quickly turned through bleary, bloodshot eyes to the singed wound in the centre of his shirt. The noise of the hissing emanating from his smouldering tunic seemed almost imperceptibly louder than anything else around.

The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt; a searing heat ate at his flesh, the smell of melting skin tickled his nostrils and his heart almost exploded out of his chest such was the effort required for it to pump the required adrenaline around his body. But, instead of recoiling in horror as most mortals would have done, Shinsou was almost smiling to himself, albeit through gritted teeth.

"Fuck."

A breath of cool wind splashed against the Telgradian’s eyes as he assessed himself further, before getting slowly to his feet. Smoke still rose in wisps from the grievous wound on his torso as he puffed and panted through the agony.

"That's how...I remember you; that raw, arcane power. But, what happened? A year ago, that would have killed me outright. If this is a true measure of your abilities, how do you keep the Whitevale mutts in line?"

Shinsou wiped his forehead clean of sweat, and then stroked the back of his right hand against his lips to remove the last of the static taste. His attack had more or less finished this fight as a contest of agility; Shinsou was nowhere near capable of moving with any guile or panache bearing such a horrendous injury, and he knew it. Regardless, though, the Telgradian was capable of equal measures of brute force destruction, and now his friend would truly feel how far he had come in that field. It made him wonder, somewhere in the back of his mind, where the pair could have ended up if they had continued on their path to conquer Radasanth.

"Just think upon what we could have achieved together were it not for the divisions within. Perhaps one day we'll meet again and find out, eh?"

Behind Shinsou, a few feet above the crest of his oaken hair, mysterious arcane energies began to meld together in the void of the chamber. Forking tendrils of black and purple convulsed and converged around each other to form a fifteen foot wide circular portal of black and purple energy. The sheer corrosive force of the dark magic chewed into the rising marble columns either side of the Telgradian, leaving a whistling expanse of space where the chiselled embellishments used to be. Out of the black chasm that gaped behind him, protruding from the abyss of marbled purple and jet, were fifteen thin, dangerous spears of dark matter.

The spears momentarily hung there with an ethereal hum as they waited for an order, before a layer of ice crawled over the unusual void membrane comprising each projectile. Before long the entire void was seeping ice; its deadly salvo waiting to be unleashed on Storm Veritas at a range of fifteen feet.

Without even having to motion, Shinsou commanded all projectiles to attack at once. They shot out of the portal and wildly tore towards their intended recipient, forks of blue and purple electricity ripping into space around them and scorching the surface of the smooth stone floor as they travelled. Through the electric and ice comet like trail of his powerful volley, Shinsou gave the implacable electromancer an incredulous stare.

It was almost unbelievable that Shinsou had been hit. Storm had seen the warrior use all sorts of witchcraft to move quickly over time, creating black portals and dimensions that let him seem to step through the very fabric of time and space. Even with his new toolbelt of magic, Vaan Osiris had once been fast enough to pretty easily sidestep the bolts. Regardless, one of the powerful arcs of white hate hit him squarely, staggering the soldier behind a pillar. Veritas was used to the odor of ozone filling the air, likening the rich air of a passing thunderstorm. Here in its stead sprayed the rank, horrible odor of burning flesh.

What the hell!?

If the wizard was surprised to have hit Shinsou, he was outright staggered to see the old partner withstand the beam. To the best of his knowledge, Storm wasn’t aware of any dampening of power within the Citadel; the reality of the dangers here were part of the whole allure. In an act of bold defiance, Shin appeared to march through the assault, grinning and taunting the electromancer as he conjured a portal, disappearing.

Shit, more ice!

Some awful combination of Shinsou’s proprietary black-purple goo with a thick coating of glistening blue ice formed around a dozen or so long spears, each dancing in air with a uniform precision. As the progenitor of these weapons disappeared into the ethereal, the spears rocketed towards the still-fallen Storm Veritas, who scrambled away with utter desperation.

He was too slow today, the icy footing making for terrible traction and nearly no progress. With a final burst he jettisoned his body away from the scene in an electromagnetic pulse, but the fraction of delay caused by his original scramble cost him an ultimate price. He felt the first spear drive through his chest, an impossible upwards angle toward his supine position, skewering lung and liver, splitting bone and rending flesh.

Am’aleh…

There were other projectiles which hit him elsewhere, one driving its way through his hip bone in a savage, almost explosive shot, another tearing thigh meat clean and wide, spilling blood in a rapid, horrible fashion. The wizard had already been fully gripped with shock and abject fear, his vision rapidly darkening and closing from the periphery.

This was it. This was his end, so unceremoniously. It was only the last breath of air that allowed him some relief, as his eyes dilated and consciousness drifted. The relief of death’s cold embrace came with a final pleasant thought.

You’re in the Citadel, you fucking idiot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

His eyes opened slowly, a spectacularly pristine white room around him. He was comfortable, and devoid of pain, tapping at his chest with extreme delicacy for a horrible wound that he would not find.

“Sir, it is good to see you again. Quite a show today, you two really rallied the audience to quite a frenzy. I trust you are feeling well?”

Please tell me he didn’t operate on me, too. He barely makes a decent cappuccino.

It was the waiter, dressed flawlessly in a black tie by his bedside, his drawl face impeccably neat and drawn to a small, wry smile above a thin, pointed chin. Storm peered in on him with suspicion, considering his words carefully before speaking.

“Feeling five years younger, and one thousand percent less-goddamned-dead. Pardon the intrusion, but are you here for a coffee order? I was more thinking of just some ice water, or something with a little flavor.”

Unmoved, the sentry-like waiter simply smiled and returned a pleasant smile. With a brief bow to the man in the bed, he took a half step back and showed his hands, long slender fingers open and empty.

“Sir, I am simply your ward here. I was sent to greet you along with the others this morning, and based on your generous reception, the monks felt my visage best to greet you upon your return. My form is fully negotiable, should you prefer to gaze upon a familiar face, or beautiful young woman, for example.”

Carefully, Storm pressed his fingers into the soft linen of the bed, stunned with the ease he could maneuver himself. The magics used to heal him were indeed transcendent; he had no residual pain or even soreness to earmark what he had been through.

“Well, you’re not my particular type, but given the circumstances there’s no need to change gears. What room is Shinsou in?” Peering at the door, Storm estimated he was likely in only one of many such healing rooms.

“Ah, yes, alas Mr. Vaan Osiris has already taken his leave. He did direct us to deliver you a gift before he departed.” Without a word, the dapper waiter reached under Storm’s bedside table, moving with speedy grace and returning to full view with a large, glass bottle filled with a thick golden fluid. A white note tag twisted from a string that was tied beneath the bottle’s bulbed head.

He heard the words in Shinsou’s markedly deep, sometimes zealous intonation.

[quote]I guess we’re both getting a LITTLE old, but I don’t need your ancient bones chasing me around for leftovers. Consider us even, until we can split another one.

– S –

[/quest]

With a small smile at the totem, his mission was somehow complete. This fence was at least somewhat mended, as absurd as the path to accomplish such a healing had proven. Shinsou could be a monster, a sadistic, combative sociopath with no hesitation to do the hardest of things. He could also prove a loyal friend, even with his propensity to disappear.

For the next phase of his larger plan, Storm would need both of these facets.

Quote:

---

Two days later...

---

Shinsou Vaan Osiris, on a day when a cold wind whipped around the hilltops a couple of miles south of Radasanth, stood on an ancient stone bridge and stared at the road which led southwards. Having travelled it so many times, the Telgradian already knew where it led. It meandered through the valley and led to the Brotherhood stronghold of Whitevale. Like a concrete snake, it slithered from east to west and alternated between cobble and gravel for almost its entirety, before stopping at those large, iron wrought gates that marked his home.

The hills were dark with rain. Behind him, standing at ease, with their musket locks wrapped with rags and their muzzles plugged with corks to stop the rain soaking into the barrels, stood five companies of his Immortals; Brotherhood infantry that had declared their loyalty to him during the acrimonious split. They were well drilled, well disciplined and almost completely useless as ceremonial detail, so much so that Shinsou nearly felt sorry for them. But, as circumstances dictated, they were the men who he wanted by his side to spearhead the re-unification. Arius, who was abating the shivers by clutching his coat close to his body, turned to his friend and rose his voice above the howl of the wind.

“Did you ever find out?”

Shinsou raised an eyebrow. “Did I ever find out what?”

Arius turned back towards the road, wincing through his round rimmed glasses as the wind beat at him. “Did you ever find out who was better?”

Shinsou frowned. The electromancer, the Telgradian felt, had worked him during that fight. The more he had thought about it, the more the whole thing had seemed like a specially executed performance, carefully crafted to send a message to him. All the messing about at the start, hiding when Storm knew full well Shinsou could sense him, the deliberately weakened electrical bolts and the manner of his theatrics all felt part of a bigger message; like a test to see how Shinsou would respond to both his presence and his performance.

Storm Veritas does not turn up to the Citadel to just piss about; he goes there to entertain and test the limits of his powers. I get the feeling he wanted to show me that we have a much bigger connection, a much more important future, than I ever really gave credit for. In a typically Storm Veritasly way, of course.

“Me,” Shinsou finally responded, wiping his face free of rain, “For now. Where’s that damned envoy?”

One part of his job was to escort a special Whitevale envoy personally across the bridge and back to the compound. The other part was a simple job; a soldier's job. Word had gotten round that there had been a reparation of relations between Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Storm Veritas, and Shinsou knew that there was a risk that their political and military opponents would try to ambush him before he reached the gates of Whitevale once again. This is why he had chosen this location for the meeting, well out of the way of Whitevale's flat and predictable landscape. The spring had come late, the weather had brought these hills nothing but rain and the stream beneath the bridge was deep, fast and impassible.

If any assassination party dared to try and intervene, they would have to come to the bridge where Shinsou waited, or not cross the watercourse at all.

A murmur came from the throng of Immortals who packed the crest. It rose and became an excited shout with the emergence of a small Brotherhood uniformed posse down the gulley. Shinsou looked at the assembled men, nodded to confirm the Brotherhood’s compliance, then looked up at the assorted trees loosely in the wind. His aides crowded close to him as the hooded envoy marched over the narrow bridge that carved the ravine in two and right up the hill until he reached the contingent at the peak. He was taller than Shinsou’s green jacketed guards, wearing a uniform that oddly seemed more penitent than anything.

"Shinsou Vaan Osiris," The officer asked in a voice that carried itself heavily over the wind and driving rain, "Are you ready to return to Whitevale?"

The Telgradian looked first at Arius and then looked up to the man in front. A smile crept over his lips.

“The question, my friend, is not whether I am ready to come back to Whitevale, but whether Whitevale is ready for us. Lead the way, boy.”

Name of Thread: Pride and Glory
Type of Judgement: Basic
Participants: Shinsou and Storm

Rewards:

Shinsou vaan Osiris receives:
1200 EXP
80 Gold

Storm Veritas receives:
1355 EXP
65 Gold

“The nation that will insist on drawing a broad line of demarcation between the fighting man and the thinking man is liable to find its fighting done by fools and its thinking done by cowards.”
― William Francis Butler