Fragile Bonds (The Black Knight and Flueworks)

What a lovely place you picked out for us to visit.

Carcaroth found Kerel's snarkiness to be rather unneccessary in the current situation, but he couldn't blame the demon for it. When he'd located the town on the map and decided to head there next, he hadn't imagined that he'd walk right into what appeared to be a town hellbent on witch hunts.

Or rather, hunts for anything out of the ordinary. Carcaroth had not seen a more suspicious populace of people in one location, let alone single individuals. For someone like him, this was an awkward situation to be in. In fact, considering who he hid underneath, this was a dangerous situation. If Kerel ever decided to open his mouth, it would seem rather strange to any onlookers.

It seemed they weren't on their feet for no good reason, and it seemed that demons weren't their only concern. The town had seen several recent visits of "hunters", who were looking for creatures that hid in human form. Carcaroth hadn't yet heard any specifics, and he felt that he didn't really want to know either. He wasn't in any immediate danger, as long as Kerel behaved, but somehow the thought occurred to him that that could easily change.

With this in mind, Carcaroth started walking faster down the road. He needed to resupply and get a place for the night, and then lock himself away so he didn't have to risk running into any trouble. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into any of those hunters either.

Basil's heavy pack weighed him down like it always did, stuffed to the brim with supplies, wares, fake potions, trinkets, and anything else he could trick foolish, superstitious people into buying. He had developed a habit of standing hunched over, from how cumbersome it was to carry. In a different world, one might make the remark that he was a type of Atlas, always carrying a load upon his back.

He did not plan to open it in this town, however. Upon arriving, he had witnessed the hurried burial of an elf girl, who couldn't have been above the age of fourteen. She had been arrested and tried based on the fact that she was an alien, and even possessed a horrible thing like healing magic. It was obvious what they'd done to her.

Not that he cared about her. But from the serious looks the people had in their eyes, it had been a big deal. This certainly was not the place to amaze peasants with lightning blasts and explosives.

As he passed through the streets, looking for a back-alley inn to spend the night unnoticed in, he had observed one or two individuals who were armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons. He had tried to stay out of these individuals' ways. The muttered exchanges between townspeople told him these were "hunters", and they were looking for "abnormals". They probably didn't even know what "abnormal meant, the idiots.

Guessing by the wretch they'd buried earlier, abnormal meant anyone with magic. Fools. They could hardly imagine the power magic could bring. Why, even he was just beginning to unlock its secrets, and could do... respectable feats with it. He was doing pretty well for being self-taught, he always told himself.

He followed a narrowing side street, looking for the out-of-the-way establishment he desired, until he stumbled upon a set of stairs, quite literally. Muttered curses at amateur stone-cutting and faulty construction flew between irritated gasps of breath, which only intensified as he picked himself up and climbed the steps. At the top, he kept going along the winding alley, but instead of an inn, he wound up on the sidelines of the town square.

"Filth and ilk," he said, adopting the smile he always wore for the public. "I should like to strangle the city planner."

He ventured into the crowds, returning the multitude of suspicious gazes he got with big grins.

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A gentle wind blew across the patched landscape of farmland and pastures, tugging gently at the large fields of wheat until they were nothing but golden seas with large waves flowing beneath the sun. The sky was nothing less, mind you; tall, pure white clouds scattered across the sky contrasted beautifully against the perfect blue backdrop. But to a lonesome farmer working on the fields with his cows, this was nothing out of the ordinary. He had grown up with this, and had lived with this for over forty summers and considered it just normal. His father had harvested these fields, and his father before him. And now he was the harvester.

But just as he thought of the normality of the situation, and how nothing exciting happened around these parts, something passed in front of the sun for a second, casting a large shadow across the fields. But when the farmer looked to the skies, there was nothing up there but blue sky and white clouds. Still, a chill fell over him and made the hair on his neck stand. His cows felt the same, and fought against their harness, throwing off the baskets of wheat strapped to their sides in their panic.

And just as he went over to them to try to calm them, the air around him exploded from the beatings of wings from a huge creature and threw him to the ground. One of his cows bellowed in pain and panic and as he managed to lift his head, all he saw was the silhouette of a dragon carrying away his beloved cow.



Isith, like the farmer, did not care much about the view either; he had just scored a nice fat cow. Today he would eat well, and that was all that mattered.

The times were difficult for dragons; in older times the humans feared them, respected them and even worshipped them. There was the occasional hero who wanted to test his mettle, and there was the occasional hero who succeeded, but apart from other dragons, there was no one who dared to challenge the draconic race. Now there were hunters and soldiers everywhere. Not even the air was safe, not with the army in their airships.

Just the other day he had come across the remains of another dragon; the wing bones, the tail and the ribcage was all that was left. The rest had been “harvested” by the humans for weapons, potions and armour. It had all started when the human mages had found out that dragon blood, with its magic potency, increased their magic powers by magnitudes. And in their foolishness, and desire to surpass even the elves they began to hunt down dragons for their blood and heart. Soon the scales were taken as well for their durability and even the bones were used for whatever it seemed.

He finished his meal, distracted by the anger and hate for the human race, and pondered his next move. He had to hide for some time now, he knew. Before, when a dragon took cattle no one lifted an eyelash. It was the way of nature. Now, however… It would not be long before an airship arrived he assumed, and he had no intentions of confronting any of those.

So he changed back to dragonborn, his mutilated humanoid shape. He had cloaks, gloves, and thick boots; as long as he did not draw any unnecessary attention to himself, he could stay hidden for quite a long time.

"This has got to be the most confusing place I've ever been to," muttered Carcaroth to himself. It was embarrassing to admit, but impossible to avoid - he was lost.

He still didn't dare talk to anyone. He had a feeling that keeping himself out of everyone's business was the safest option, although that still didn't keep people from giving him dark, suspicious looks as he passed them in the streets.

It was when Carcaroth rounded a corner that he saw them - two of those hunters, leaning against a wall and seemingly talking to each other casually. Still, Carcaroth didn't want to risk catching their attention, so he hurriedly turned to go the other way - and walked right into a man carrying a huge bag over his shoulder.

"Damn - "

Carcaroth's instincts kicked in immediately, causing him to grab the man and throw the two of them out of the way, and out of sight from the two hunters across the street.

Just too bad that the way he'd thrown them happened to be down a flight of stairs.

It wasn't a particularly long stairway, but it still hurt a whole lot as the two of them were tumbling down the steps before coming to a stop at the bottom. Carcaroth groaned as he slowly got to his feet, hoping that he hadn't accidentally broken someone's neck in the fall. Before he could check, however, his attention was caught by something else. They weren't alone in this dark, narrow alley they had just tumbled down into. There seemed to be another person there, although it was hard to tell - it was rather dark, and the person seemed to be wearing a lot of clothes.

Oh, this just got interesting, said Kerel all of a sudden.

What do you mean? said Carcaroth confused.

I feel something... very fascinating from that one.

Basil had managed to find another mess of alleyways, once again having no luck finding a ramshackle inn. He rounded a corner, coming right behind a man in a long, dark cloak. To his shock, the man whipped around, saw him, and grabbed him, throwing the both of them down into an alleyway; this alleyway just so happened to be a flight of cold, hard stone steps. He grunted and gasped as he tumbled down, landing face-first on the ground, his bag on of him. That was going to leave some bruises. His wares were probably all shattered. Painfully picking himself up, he shook his head, and looked around for the dope who had thrown him down. He was going to let the punk have it.

There he was, standing a few feet away, dressed in lots of black. He was staring at another person down the alleyway, one Basil couldn't make out very well, but that was irrelevant.

"You blasted rip! What do you think you're doing, throwing people to their deaths down stone stairs? Meat-brained looney! I could have been killed, you careless twit! And my wares too!" Basil exclaimed, anger rising up through him.

The town was filled with hunters. He could feel their piercing glances as he passed them. But as long as he held his head low and feigned respect and awe, they let him be. Cloaked men were not exactly uncommon; monks, beggars and travelers often wore thick clothing to protect themselves from the elements. But if you looked at them closer, you could see their faces. Isith had covered his face completely, leaving only a small slit for his eyes. That was still common, but only to those who does not want to be recognized. Mostly those were wanted criminals, with a heavy bounty on their head.

He had just fed for a few days, so food was not a problem. All he needed was a quiet inn, with a no question asked policy. If he could just find one of those, he could just stay in his room for some days, until the army’s airships left. He had not seen any yet, but he did not wish to take any chances.

Luckily for him, the hunters he met were not really interested in any cheap money. They didn’t even blink as they passed him. In fact, almost nobody even acknowledged that he was there. Either the many hunters occupying the town were attracting too much focus to themselves, or he was just that good in stealth. He assumed it had to the first.

But still, that made it just so much more obvious that the man had noticed him, and showed interest. He were just trying to locate one of those inns when the two guys tumbled down the steps to the alley he just happened to stand in. And then the black clad man noticed him. Not as someone who has observed the tumult, but as someone who were quite worthy of attention. And that guy were not just a normal person. He was quite strong. And the sword the man wore had a familiar feel to it too… Most likely than not, that man was a hunter, and had just blown his cover.

Isith considered his options. Running would be too suspicious in case his cover was not yet out, but standing still would be inviting to a fight. And a fight in this town would have no ideal outcomes for him. His best option, he figured in the end, would be to just walk casually away. If a fight was unavailable and the hunter approached him, he would be ready. If not, he’d just walk away like nothing had happened.

"You blasted rip! What do you think you're doing, throwing people to their deaths down stone stairs? Meat-brained looney! I could have been killed, you careless twit! And my wares too!"

Carcaroth would have ignored the man, but Kerel was not going to let this person interrupt him. The demon promptly seized control, spun around and grabbed the owner of what could only be a bag filled with broken merchandise by the collar.

"Not - now," hissed the demon through clenched teeth. He let go before turning around again, looking at the dark figure in the corner.

What do you think you're doing? snarled Carcaroth. If anyone sees us -

Shut up. One false move and we're dead.

What do you mean?

I'm not certain, began the demon slowly, but this energy... it's very similar to an archdemon.

That certainly turned the situation around. Carcaroth had never been face to face with an archdemon before, but he knew enough about them to tell that they were in grave danger if the person they were staring at, really was one.

Kerel's hand moved slowly over to the hilt of Calaim, taking slow and deep breaths.

If he is an archdemon, he's probably gonna catch onto my scent before long. Whatever you do - don't interrupt me.

"Not - Now." came a hissed reply, through clenched teeth.

The man in dark clothes let go of him, and Basil fell back a few steps. He simmered in anger, preparing to unleash a tirade, and possibly a little magic, but when the man turned back around in disinterest, Basil had to see what could possibly have captured his focus. Peeking around the punk's back, he saw a heavily cloaked figure, his head hidden from view. The stranger looked them over, sizing them up, probably like this punk in front of him was doing as well.

An itchy feeling creeped up Basil's neck. He could see trouble coming. And though his wares were in shambles, the strength he'd been grabbed with, coupled with the likely brawl that was about to happen, told him to get away, fast. All he had to do was grab his bag and quietly... back... off...

A sudden release of power behind him made him halt in his tracks. It was the preliminary signs of an inevitable battle. And judging from the feeling, the guy was not just a normal hunter looking for a quick money. There was something else, something that was just spilling out, like lava erupting from the ground. But whatever it was, the intentions were clear as the day.

Slowly, he turned around, with his head still lowered. Then slowly, he lifted his eyes, so that they met the other man’s, and released his terrifying presence, his aura, which to a normal man would cause an overwhelming fear. And in this town, where fear festered like a rotten cadaver, the effect might well be doubled. Fear, he knew, if only a little, would not only create openings, but would also help keep up any misconceptions people might have conceived.

He drew his sword, which manifested itself as it escaped the scabbard, took on a heavy stance and sprang forth at his adversary.

Kerel grabbed a hold of the guy with the bag and dragged him back from his attempted getaway.

"Hey, you're not going any - "

His head turned for a second, and his eyes met those of the stranger standing across them. The next second, he felt a terrifying force erupt forth. It made him let go of the other guy and draw his sword immediately, and it turned out to be just in time - the being with the powerful aura drew a weapon and attacked.

That's not an archdemon, said Kerel as their swords locked together. The aura's all wrong... and he'd be stronger physically...

It still took some effort for him to break the lock. It could be that this guy wasn't an archdemon, but he still had notable strength in his arms.

If his aura is all wrong then why did you suspect he was an archdemon earlier? inquired Carcaroth.

Shut up, you don't know anything about sensing auras, snapped Kerel. It's harder to tell when it's all suppressed and hidden. When it's out in the open like this, it's easier to distinguish.

Fair enough.

"Hey, you!" shouted Kerel at the other guy who was there. "Mind backing me up? Or would you rather I slit your useless throat right away?"

Basil grunted in surprise and anger as he was grabbed and brought back from his attempted getaway. This guy wanted him here, for some reason. Stupid punk. The peddler entertained a quick plan to distract him, then stab him and run away.

Then, without any seeming provocation, the hooded man materialized a sword as if from thin air, and charged at them. The punk in black drew his own sword, locking blades, and then pushing the attacker back.

"Hey, you!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Mind backing me up? Or would you rather I slit your useless throat right away?"

He has no idea who he's dealing with, does he? As much as I'd like to take a knife out of my pack and stab him in the back for destroying my wares, this thug with the magic sword needs to be dealt with first, or I'll be testing my luck to his lack of skill.

Suppressing his anger, Basil came up beside the punk and assumed a readied position .

"Fine. But we still aren't through."

He eyed the hooded man warily, as sparks of energy lit in his hand, a sphere of electricity beginning to form. No one ever expected dangerous magic from a humble peddler.

He'll soon be a very dead man.

As the swords locked, Isith got a good look on his opponent. He did not recognize him, nor did he see any of the usual hunter insignias he had expected to see. Either he was hiding them well, or he was not a hunter after all. Nonetheless, he had initiated the fight, so he had to take what was coming to him. Another thing he noticed, while locked, was the distinct feel from the blade. He could not afford to get cut by it.

There was another man there, a merchant from the looks, but Isith discarded him as weak and not important, and kept his focus on the swordsman. Again, he attained a heavy stance and attacked with strong and heavy blows. He knew he had too many openings, but he just had to finish this fight before they attracted more participants.

Kerel, listen - , started Carcaroth.

Not now, dumbass! hissed the demon angrily, putting all the focus and effort he could spare into deflecting and defending against the powerful blows that his opponent was dishing out with relatively high frequency.

Seriously, I can help!

The last thing Kerel wanted right now was to hear Carcaroth go on about whatever it was he was about to say, but he didn't even have time for more insults. He attempted to meet power with power, and while Carcaroth's body was much tougher now than it had been at the beginning of their "partnership", it was still a human body. Whoever - and whatever - they were fighting now, had to be on a higher level than that.

Kerel - goddammit, listen to me!

WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?! yelled the demon. I'm kinda busy here, in case you haven't noticed, you retarded little -

If Kerel was pissed off before, what came next could only make him furious beyond comprehension. Carcaroth forcibly assumed control of his own body - something the demon had never expected the human to be able to do at a time like this - and shut Kerel inside his mind where he could only watch. As Carcaroth resumed the fight where Kerel had left off, he could hear the demon explode, yelling who knows what kinds of insults and obscene things in the demonic language.

There were two reasons why Carcaroth had decided to take control. First off, he had understood that Kerel could not hope to match this adversary in strength. At least, not while they held Calaim. The sword locked the demon's powers inside, and Kerel was too proud and stubborn to let that stop him from going his usual route of overpowering his enemies. Carcaroth, on the other hand, was a lot more agile and quick in his approach. That was something his body could handle just fine without demonic help. In short, Carcaroth was more suited for this battle than Kerel.

The other reason was that, while Kerel had implored him to help out (with threats, but still), the demon hadn't paid any further attention to the merchant that had agreed to help him. Carcaroth didn't know what powers or abilities this guy possessed, but he was more willing to cooperate than the demon probably was. And sure enough, as he turned his head, Carcaroth could see a ball of electricity start to form in the merchant's hands.

"I'll try and keep him occupied," he said to his "ally". "We should try and end this before we draw unwanted attention."

Perhaps the sudden change in tone and attitude surprised the merchant, but there was no time to explain or answer questions - the enemy struck again. Carcaroth had just enough time to spin out of the way, quickly regaining his footing before launching a counter-offensive. He would bet on quick, pinpointed strikes, varying from low to high - everything that would keep his foe from launching more deadly attacks.

I seriously hope you die.

The punk looked at him, and in a sudden change in tone and complete attitude shift, said, "I'll try and keep him occupied. We should try and end this before we draw unwanted attention."

Basil nodded, taken off guard by the abrupt personality change. But it didn't matter. He'd make him pay for the damaged goods anyways.

The cloaked aggressor attacked again, this time nearly connecting his sword with the punk's head. His target spun out of the way just in time, and then counter-attacked with a series of sword strikes that kept the dark figure at bay. Luckily for Basil, the cloaked man was distracted, and he could now get an angle from behind.

A few short seconds longer, and the sphere of electricity was charged as high as Basil could safely go without possibly losing control and injuring himself. He made a throwing motion with his right arm, and the ball of crackling yellow-white death hurtled on its way towards his enemy's back.

Disappointed, Isith just had to parry the attacks as Carcaroth launched a series of attacks. He had left himself wide open for any direct counters, but his enemy had not once taken the opportunity. Did he suspect that Isith had left the openings on purpose, as was the case, or did he just not see them? He was a difficult man to read, and the sudden change in style came as quite a surprise. Several times Isith had to dodge just to keep the sword away from him; he was slowly being driven back.

Behind him, he could hear a slight sizzling of electricity, and after feinting a dodge, he stole a quick glance at the merchant from the corner of his eye. He was charging up some sort of magic ball, which was strange, seeing how magic was strictly limited to the imperial army’s mages. And that man was clearly a merchant, not a wizard…

No time to think about that now, as Carcaroth once again pressed him, leaving the merchant at his back. Forced to parry the attacks and with the threat from behind, he realized he was outnumbered and actually pressed for both time and options, and began to unravel his cloak. If this battle held up, he had no choice but to sacrifice his disguise for more agility. And as he felt the energy rise behind him, he smiled. Rule one when fighting two on one, never attack when friends are on the line. With a ripping sound, the rest of his clock was ripped sunder as a pair of wings erupted from his back, flinging the cloak forwards, covering him, and the merchant, from his opponent. And in the same instant he jumped high, and let his wings propel him both upwards and backwards, allowing him to just barely miss the ball of electricity who were now headed for his discarded cloak, and the man behind it.

Righting himself in the air and using his hands to straighten his landing he recovered and cursed his current predicament. Being forced to show his form in the middle of a city of hunters and with the overhanging threat of an army airship, it was the worst possibly outcome. Snorting, causing a small flicker of fire to erupt from one nostril, he retracted his wings and stared at the merchant.

“You seem to have disrobed me,” he declared. “How unfortunately – for you, that is.”

“I am Isith Nawarath, your doom. Seeing how you managed to stand against me so far, I shall allow you to recite your names before I will purge them from this world.”

Ooc: I have selected a fight theme song. Hope you enjoy it!

Bic: With a loud "rrrriiiiip" the attacking man's cloak came off, revealing that he was by no means a man. A disfigured head and body, and wings no less, were revealed, and with a mighty heave, the wings propelled him right over the magic ball. He landed and recovered a few feet away, retracting the wings. He snorted and fire flickered out his gnarled nostril.

What in the name of... What is this thing? Basil thought, awestruck at the move just pulled. He didn't even notice whether his electricity had hit the punk. He frankly didn't care.

“You seem to have disrobed me,” the disfigured creature declared. “How unfortunate – for you, that is.”

“I am Isith Nawarath, your doom. Seeing how you managed to stand against me so far, I shall allow you to recite your names before I will purge them from this world.”

Who does this thing think he is? This whole situation is getting on my nerves.

With a superior attitude, the merchant replied, "You're fighting the mage, Basilikos. You'd best watch your mouth, you arrogant twit."

Inwardly, Basil was not as confidant as the show he put on. Though he didn't doubt his own abilities, the creature's already amazing display of agility and skill would prove difficult to fight off. This mage was going to take off running if he could. Leaving that punk behind to die would be more than enough payback.

OoC: Sorry about the wait, things have been tangling up a bit with school starting up. Now then, ahem.

BiC:

In a sudden and surprisingly fast move, the cloaked enemy shot up into the air and left the way wide open for the merchant's electric attack. The confusion threw Carcaroth off a little bit, but he recovered in time to bring up Calaim and protect himself from the ball of electricity. As soon as it touched the blade, it vanished into thin air like smoke.

The stranger had discarded the robe. It certainly wasn't a human, what with the wings and the very non-human like appearance. The first thought that came to Carca's head was that it was some kind of a demon, but then he remembered that if so, Kerel would have been able to tell. Plus, it looked more like something... reptilian. Suddenly it spoke.

“I am Isith Nawarath, your doom. Seeing how you managed to stand against me so far, I shall allow you to recite your names before I will purge them from this world.”

The merchant was quick to reply. "You're fighting the mage, Basilikos. You'd best watch your mouth, you arrogant twit."

Carcaroth swallowed, assessing the situation. He had been able to match his opponent because of his superior speed, but now it seemed that speed was no longer on his side. He couldn't turn to Kerel though, not yet. Not while the demon was so furious.

"I am Carcaroth," said the swordsman finally. "And - "

Finally.

It seemed Carcaroth had underestimated Kerel's ability to focus and calm himself.

" - if you want to kill me, you better be ready to put everything you got into it... prick."

Isith nodded to them both as they introduced themselves; a deep, sarcastically nod with his head slightly tilted, as if he was interested in what they were saying. A mage and a swordsman. He suspected he would have to take it slower, to draw out their strengths.

“Well, then,” he said calmly, albeit his adrenaline was pumping. “Let’s see how long you can last against a Draconian!”

He glanced over at Carcaroth, to make sure he knew where he was, before charging at Basilikos with his sword kept low to the ground. If the mage did something fancy, he’d have to be quick enough to block it. And compared to Carcaroth, he deemed the mage the weakest, and the easiest to dispose of. His grip on his sword was loose; it would take the brunt of the attack and be ditched for a more personal attack. His sword was not his only weapon, and in the case he reached the mage, he’d either grab him by the throat and then crush him to the ground, or, if the mage was physically untouchable, he’d leap over him, and roast him from the sky in a torrent of liquid fire.

As soon as the punk started talking, saying something about his name being "Carcaroth", Basil's mind went into action. He had never been the most powerful attacker, or the fastest magic-caster, but he was a thinker. No one he'd ever been pitched against had been able to match his ability to plan, especially on the fly.

Now, he'd had his fair share of close encounters, and bounty hunters on his tail, including some mage-killers. Mage-killers were some of the most arrogant people he'd ever come into contact with, bar snotty nobility. They were so confidant in their ability to outthink "predictable" mages without resorting to magic themselves. Among their favorite tactics was charging forward, in an effort to get the mage to concentrate his power in one direction, before reflecting it with an anti-magic sword or flipping over the blast, then bringing their weapon to bear against the typically unarmored practitioner of arcane arts.

The best way to counteract this, of course, was to throw a few balls of whatever magic one used in his way, to lure him in, then roll out of the way, and when one came out of the evasive maneuver, throw a hastily-aimed area-of-effect spell to catch him off guard, or in the best case, kill him. If you charged it up with one hand while the other fired the distraction, that was even better, but it required so much more focus.

And this "Draconian" may not even come for me first; but I doubt it, seeing how well the swordsman put up against his blade.

Indeed, the strange creature glanced at Carcaroth, before rushing in his direction, sword held low to the ground. Basil wasn't quite sure why he held it so low, but he did realize it was metallic death for him if he didn't pull off what he had just thought through. Even then, this thing might be too fast for it to work, but it was a better shot than standing there like a fool.

Basil put his right foot forward, turning so that his right hand was open and facing the swiftly approaching creature on his outstretched arm. Pushing all other thoughts out of his mind, save the creature and himself, he simultaneously began forming two balls of energy in his hands. The left he kept charging, but the one in his right, he let loose immediately, charging up another and firing it as soon as he could repeatedly. Judging in a split second, he figured he could get two off safely, three if he pushed it, before he could duck, roll, and whip around with a fanning bolt of electricity. With a general idea of the Draconian's speed, he opted for three. One ball of lightning already on its way now, and a second close behind. Basil sincerely hoped this would work.

Ooc: Flueworks, follow through this sequence with Basil acting as he's thought out already, unless Isith drastically changes his plan.

It wasn't neccessarily a surprise that the reptile-guy was going to go for the merchant mage first, but that didn't stop Kerel from feeling annoyed that he was being left behind. Like he was going to wait for these two pricks to resolve their battle.

The demon looked down at the sword he held in his hand. The powerful anti-magic enchantment that powered this blade was throwing him off his game, having to rely on techniques and speed. He had grown rather tired of it by now, even though the reptile had seemed very intent on avoiding the sword at all costs. So it would be foolish to just discard Calaim, but it was also difficult to fight with it. And then there was the all-too familiar problem of having a human body, which was very restrictive.

Kerel grit his teeth. He had never been much of an innovator, but in times of need he'd have to improvise. And if he just put his mind to it (while carefully shutting Carcaroth's angered, annoying voice out), he might make this work.

Brandishing the blade, he dashed right at Isith, who was dashing right at Basilikos, who opted to fire a few balls of energy in the direction of the approaching enemy. Kerel grinned in appreciation of such a splendid distraction. The demon, still running, threw Calaim up into the air well ahead of him. He had never been very good with timing either, but this was worth a shot nonetheless.

The second Calaim left his hand, he could feel the magical powers in him come to life once again. Instantly he focused, thrusting his hand forward and firing off a boulder-sized ball of fire. Not towards Isith, who was no doubt going to make some kind of evasive move due to Basilikos' counterattack, but towards Basilikos himself. There was no way that the mage wouldn't see it coming, which made him more than capable of avoiding a direct hit, but to Isith it would be less obvious.

As soon as the fireball was on its way, two demonic wings appeared on Kerel's back. With a powerful flap he flung himself forward into the air, catching the still airborne Calaim as it started falling. As his hand grasped the hilt of the sword he knew that the wings had disappeared from his back, but that mattered little; the momentum from the jump carried him forward at high speed, right towards his adversary.