Passing of the Flame? [Atzar] [Open to 1 or 2 more]

Well, cheese and crackers.

Everything had gone downhill very quickly upon the small group's arrival to the cabin. Analyzing the situation, Ezra began to mentally compartmentalize everything in order to process the best way to handle the situation. Murov had betrayed them upon the arrival to the cabin, where a total of four other mage hunters had been residing. The four zealots were riled due to their ideology about the 'Ethereal Sway', whatever that was supposed to mean, and had a society based in their faith and only allowed those who had shown their allegiance to use magic.

Which, frankly, was imbecilic.

Magic deserved to be used freely and with little restriction; obviously there were exceptions to the rule, but a majority of magi were not evil. They were learned, and deserved the right to experiment and allow their skills to flourish. One of the Churchmen, a young man with a buzz cut and muddy brown eyes, decided to make a name for himself. Brandishing an old oak staff, he charge the homunculus and began a barrage of swings. "Young man, I must ask that you stop your attacks. I have no intention to engage in combat."

"Silence, foul demon! There is no salvation for the wicked!" The young man yelled, slamming his staff full force into the homunculus' chest and sent them sprawling into one of the large trees nearby. The snow fell from the tree and Ezra felt their back slide into a thick batch of roots. With a grunt, they attempted to rise to their feet only to hear a twang! of a crossbow bolt being loosed in their direction. The wooden wall to their right splintered in response, and an elder man held up the weapon with one hand while trying to reload. With a deep breath, the homunculus imagined the feeling of passion and flame forming in their hand and being expelled forth.

Nothing came.

Ezra quietly sighed, scrambling backwards made his presence known as the young man with the oak staff bellowed loudly as he attempted to bring the staff down against their skull. They continued to flee, pulling out the long yet small-headed warhammer from its sheath as they did a quick spin with the weapon to drive the head full force into the young man's ribs. The sound of cracking bone and blood spilling from his mouth made Ezra shudder as the youngling collapsed onto the snow. He let out a groan as the sclera of the homunculus' eyes began to shift to black, the purple irises glowing with some form of dark energy. The elder Churchman had reloaded his crossbow and prepared to fire when he paused and called out to his allies,

"Be careful! The witch has lightning!"

Ezra was confused at his words, until looking down at the odd glow that was starting to form. There was a deep purple glow emanating from the magus' left hand, crackles of energy spitting forth from the palm and up their arm. With a quick raise of the hand, the purple energy streaked forth from their arm into the elder, his body convulsing as he let out a scream of agony as he stumbled back. The crossbow fell into the frost with a gentle slosh, and Ezra could only stare at their hand for a long moment. They had cast magic. Their own, actual form of magic. If the situation wasn't so dangerous at the moment, they would love to experiment more. But it was a bad time to lose focus, and their attention shifted back to the young man at their feet. A low groan was coming from the floor, as the youngling was still suffering from cracked ribs. Time seemed to slow down for the homunculus, as their thoughts began to race looking at their fallen foe.

He had tried to kill them.

He had tried to end their life without hesitation, without attempting to broker peace. All over a little bit of magic power. They had not come here for violence; they had given their word to Murov that there would be no further bloodshed, and yet he betrayed his word. The word was sacred. There was no reason to ever blaspheme in such a manner. Their breathing began to get faster and faster, and they could hear the faint calling of the elder who had seemed to somewhat recover from his shocking revelation.

"Now, there's no need... to do anything further. He's just a young lad, he won't be causin' any more prob... problems. Your fight is with me, witch. Now come face the Sway."

The homunculus looked over to the elder man, whose grey hair stood out against the dark wood. He was well built despite his age, and it was clear by the various scratches and dings in his armor that he had been through many battles. His blue eyes seemed to pierce into their body, and they were surprised and such devotion to his order and to his allies. The man's eyes appeared to widen at Ezra's appearance, and they simply looked down at the boy once more before looking back to the man. Gripping the hammer tight and breath slowed, their stance shifted to face the white-haired Churchman. Ezra furrowed their brow before simply stating aloud,

"No salvation for the wicked."

With a quick shift, their grip shifted to a tighter stance and the purple-eyed mage brought the hammer down onto the fallen boy. With a sickening crack of metal against skull against dirt, a spray of blood burst from the downed mage hunter. Before the elder could say another word, Ezra continued the onslaught with two more furious strikes and leaving nothing more than a thick pudding of what was once the boy's head splattered along the snow. The crimson stood out against the fresh white powder, and the elder Churchman looked on in horror for a brief moment before beginning to tremble. "JACOB!" the man screamed, looking at his fallen comrade before glaring once more at Ezra. "YOU BITCH, I'LL DESTROY YOU!" He roared, flames erupting from his palms. Ezra remained stoic faced, glancing off to where Atzar was currently dealing with the other mage hunters. Hopefully he was having better luck fending off his foes, as the Churchman clenched his fists tightly and began running towards the homunculus.

"If you do not desire peace, then I shall give you war, human."