Cracked Earth: In the Lair of the Beast

[Slayer of the Rot]

Through the shattered stone and spinning brass, he came, beaten and bloody. Dan simply grinned at the chef, waiting for him. The challenger's lips moved quickly, and then he was a rapid blur before the cast cog, dodging it deftly before sprinting straight for the Heirarch. The ground shook as the gear bounced across the room, lost momentum, and ground to a stop, slamming to its side. "Come and bleed, you fucking idiot!" He yelled over the chaos of the room, over the hum and rattle of gearwork, the clatter of broken rock. Clutched in the hand partially hidden by his thigh, he gripped the glossy black blade of a combat knife.

'Think you've got me cornered. Keep thinking it, you piece of garbage. I'll gut you like a fucking pig. Just like that jungle bunny the first time I came to this Pagoda.' The challenger was there at his feet the moment the thought flashed through his head, and he reacted like a flash of light off a blade. Dan lunged, the knife hissing in the air as it slashed out, but Christopher's neck wasn't there the next second. Instead, he saw a glint of silver and then two of his fingers were sailing through the air with a spray of blood.

The Saraelian looked at the bloody hand, sans pinky and ring, with an expression of contempt and disgust. "You fucking twat, that was my choking hand!" Growling in anger, less that he had been wounded, and more so that an insect had managed to wound him as such, Dan lunged forward again, intent on making the chef pay. His bleeding hand reached out and the knife came in low to cut into stomach flesh, but again, he was gone - leaving a roaring stream of azure fire. Bellowing with anger now, the fire swirled around him. Summoning the strange tower shield, the Saraelian leapt into the fire, tucking his body in behind the metal. Blue tongues of flame licked around the shield, taking the brunt of it, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid it all. The whirling fire came from the sides and grabbed onto his right side. He could feel it blackening the flesh, searing away muscle, sizzling fat...his roar of anger was deafening as he hit the ground and rolled, burning blue, the shield vanishing. Dan beat against the flames furiously and finally pulled a blanket of dirt over himself to smother the fire.

It was quiet for a few moments, save for the crackle of a few remaining cerulean cinders.

Then, gasping for air, Dan burst up from the mound of smoking dirt. Soil and stone crumbled off his sooty body, and he hunched over, breathing hard. "Fuuuuuuucccck," he hissed through a raw, throbbing throat, and batted away the smoke as best he could.

The skin on his right side was blackened, blistered, and had burned away in some places to reveal, raw, sticky red meat. His arm hung listlessly at his side, the fingers twitching sporadically. Charred bone was nearly all that remained of the appendage, though some shriveled pieces of muscle still clung. He drew another shuddering breath in, exhaled, and the horror continued as smoke fluttered away.

The flesh and hair had been melted away from the right side of his face. Gingerly, he raised a hand to his bare, black skull, and hissed as he touched the bone. The left side of his mouth was curled into a furious scowl, the right, an apocalyptic jester. The eye had burst under the intense heat, and milky, viscous fluid wept down the angles of his bony cheek. The fingers of his destroyed right arm twitched uselessly.

Grimacing, Dan tore it away at the shoulder.

He held it before his one remaining eye for a moment, panting and staring at it incredulously. The sticky black bones made dismal clicking noises against each other as he turned it over, and finally, he dropped it, turning his furious one eyed gaze to Christopher. "I am going to kill the fuck out of you," he hissed through scabrous lips. A black gunblade appeared in his hand, and he sprinted across the short gap towards the challenger. The sword arched out in a slash that would cut open the chef's stomach; a fake. Two thin spikes of stone burst from the ground, aimed for the back of the chef's legs, intent on crippling him. Debris scattered at his feet as he rapidly assumed a stance, and brought the gunblade over head. The gunblade sliced down in a quick, final arc, and Dan pulled the trigger twice, firing two rounds just to be sure.

If all went well, Christopher would be pierced, bisected, and shot to death. The thought of it sent a dark chill down his spine.