The lethality of the barb-wrapped invader had looked pretentious to Storm, who had seen similar tricks and garb and knife-wielding imposters try and fail to take him on before. Perhaps the previous iterations of this particular monstrosities were inferior, or perhaps he was just getting old. The same trick that this abomination had begun their fight with – stabbing himself to transfer the wound - had been unveiled again, a blade to the lower thigh that folded the wizard like a collapsible wicker chair.

The creature was upon the magician in a flash, a wave of steel and force. Storm was certainly no novice in the craft of knives. There was a time when the traveler flourished exclusively on his speed and skills with the sharps, however it appeared those tactics had rusted like iron in the rain. A few errant jabs found limited purchase, whereas the metal-clad animal was faster, more powerful, and rained headbutts down upon the diplomat’s face.

It was then that things got truly ugly, as the fingers pressed through his face. Paralyzed by the pain, Storm could feel the entirety of his magical ability surge as his arms and legs were effectively limp. His hair stood on end as agony coursed through him, the feeling of facial bones yielding and collapsing in upon his sinuses, as fingers scratched their clumsy way to the forefront of his brain. He was dying, suffering through what felt a live mummification.

And then he wasn’t.

Gods. Fuck. MY FUCKING EYE!

The ghoulish figure had leapt back nearly as quickly as he had arrived, seemingly unscathed despite the series of devastating wounds that Veritas had thought he had instilled. This stranger, this demon had come from nowhere and left the wizard filled with nothing but feelings of terror and rage, as he felt blood pour from his open face and the burn of air upon his open wound sting like thousands of bees.

While Storm could barely see through his clouded remaining eye the monster admire his trophy from a few steps away, the wizard considered the two paths available. Succumb to the terror, wallowing in what appeared to be the bastard’s trophy taken, and glare up at the blue skies and clouds until pain and shock took him. He would either perish in peace or be treated by Whitevale’s loyal last few. The alternative was to lean into the rage, making one last pump forward to expel what ethereal rage pulsed within him, now magnified in power as his physical endurance waned. He wrenched himself up slowly, trying to form words that couldn’t be mouthed. The very notion of moving his mouth was agony, and his open sinuses were flooded with blood and mucus that filled his throat.

You motherfucker. I’ll hunt you to the ends of the world. I’ll have your bones charred and organs ground into wet paste.

Rage won.

His stomach muscled clenched to allow him to sit, one hand hiding the horrors on his face and the other collecting the entirety of his magical might into a single, ultimate blast. There were no words left or needed for this enemy. From a seated position, Storm Veritas was knocked back by his own explosive spell, a torrential bolt of lightning that felt to snap all of Corone in half, a thundercrack accompanying it that would certainly never be forgotten.

And then the world became gray and white, and the fates would leave him as they saw fit.