The pulse had worked famously, buying time for Storm as the strange monster before him was rocked back, the blood and barb-riddled atrocity clashing starkly in a field of green and yellow. This creature was out of place just about anywhere, but certainly seemed the fish out of water here in Corone. To his credit, he was also relentless, standing and moving forward quickly, now with only one eye open. The wizard calmly assessed the situation as he stood, not entirely certain of what he was witnessing.

Did I knock one out? Did he have a metal eye that I missed? Any chance they both are?

The sadistic being moved ahead sharply, any injuries suffered not seeming to slow him much. With the shadow creatures having popped like bubbles of air in thick swamp water, he looked no less onerous. Storm inhaled deeply, soaking himself in the ozone and fresh grass scents about him as he tried to rapidly recuperate. His magic was largely drained; another massive blast of lightning would not be possible at this time. The aristocratic looking Veritas was much more skilled the bladesman than his greying visage would suggest; if he could parry an attack, last a few more moments, a point-blank shock of lightning would certainly send this annoyance halfway to Ettermire.

As the visitor charged, a terrible thing grew behind Storm, who was focused on recovery and attack. It was silent, and the heat took time to accumulate. Focused on the foreground, the primary attack was insignificant. The beast leapt at him, spinning before firing a handful of little metal projectiles.

Why do these kids always waste so much time SPINNING?

Perhaps the pirouette disguised the release point of the little metal spikes for a half second longer, but it didn’t help them from being any less ineffective. Attacking Storm Veritas with metal from range was no more threatening than a single angry hornet. Casting a weak wave of electromagnetic impulse with a swipe of his knife-holding right hand, the little spikes spun harmlessly away, dutifully taking purchase in the grass to his left. The magician held taut to his daggers, knowing no applause would follow the spectacular parlor trick.

“Shit!”

The wave of heat behind him came upon him quickly, and he peaked over his shoulder to notice only a moving, twisting fire that looked more of molten metal than the formless flicks of burning ash. He thought he saw a face in the fire, but knew that notion too absurd to qualify. His second step was weakened by his injured calf, and he only limped with his second stride.

It was something of a rock and a hard place; being perilously lodged between the blade-wielding maniac and the wall of fire closing in on him from behind. Neither was welcome, but Storm reasoned he could at least do something to harm the metal-clad abomination. Unable to push off his wounded right leg, the experienced adventure leapt from his left, taking a heading of about “two o’clock”; bounding forward and to his right, to avoid the two menaces, prioritizing whatever the hell had emerged before him. It was instinctive more than strategic.

A searing pain captured his lower half as fire encapsulated the entirety of his legs. Searing heat tore through both of his legs, like cauterizing knives that bit down. Defensively, the wizard responded by pulsing electric energy once more, this a weak pulse that sent whatever had ensnared him snapping backwards.

Fuck! The hell was that!?

Storm rolled through the grass in a violent tumble as he fell free, his legs badly injured but not bleeding. Whatever had bitten down had retreated just as quickly, and those teeth of fire sealed his flesh with no more effort than they had seared it. A dozen erratic knives felt stuck about his thighs and knees; his long, powerful legs sapped of their energy and spring. The pain was fire, as was his rage. The terrible odor of burned human flesh filled his nostrils, an unmistakable horror he remembered too well from his siege upon Radasanth.

He’s coming. Get up, can’t wait. He won’t. Fight him off and send him back to hell.

The wizard stumbled and struggled to his feet, grateful to find that his leg bones weren’t broken. The mere act of rising to his feet felt heroic, but the ghoul before him was bearing down. Hell was coming for him.

((non-fatal bunnies permitted))