Jackal Among Snakes

With Argrave tapping into the power of his Black Blood with the use of blood magic, what was a pitched battle quickly inverted in their favor. Argrave had a keen aim, and the constant biting of pain distracted him none—indeed, it only sharpened his focus, tuning him like an instrument to be dead set on his task at every second. He seldom missed. There were too many targets.

Argrave advanced alone, leaving the protection of his companions to give him a better vantage point. He knew the tricks of these Sentinels—even if they were fast enough to attack, he was more than able to guard and dispatch them… yet few did manage that, and he slaughtered the malformed animals one after another.

Something grabbed onto his arm, and he very nearly retaliated before he recognized that it was Anneliese. He dispelled the [Waning-Cycle Bloodmoon], the thread dissipating into nothing. She dragged him back, shouting something, but his ears were ringing terribly and he could discern nothing.

He tried to advance back onto the frontlines, but Anneliese stopped him, repeating something. As the ringing faded, it slowly came into focus.

“..tay here. Stay here. Stay here!” she said, time and time again.

“I get it,” Argrave finally responded to her. “I’m good. I’m good,” he said, half to himself. “Let’s finish things up,” he commanded, getting ready once more.

Though he said that, there was little to finish up. With Argrave single-handedly wiping out one side of the bridge, Durran and Galamon had cooperated ably with Anneliese’s support to make way on the other. The Sentinels were not all annihilated, but they were routed—Argrave could see a great many of the larger beasts retreating to the center of the vast crater of rushing water. The final confrontation would be there, without a doubt.

As Argrave glanced around, a voice cut into his thoughts. “Remove your glove,” Anneliese said, the speed of her voice masking her worry.

Argrave leaned against an archway adorned with rose-colored leaves on the bridge they stood, adrenaline slowly fading. Durran collapsed to one knee. He threw his helmet off and held his face as though nauseous, and Galamon knelt down beside the tribal. The elven vampire cast a glance at Argrave. The vampire’s expression was largely hidden beneath his helmet, which covered only his eyes, but Argrave knew that look wasn’t worry alone. Awe, maybe. Or so Argrave hoped.

Per Anneliese’s direction, he took off the glove. It stuck to his flesh, and he felt skin tear as it came free. His hand had cracked all along its surface, beginning from his fingers. Blood dripped from these cracks, swelling in tandem with his heartbeat. Argrave rolled up his sleeve. The cracks continued up his wrist, his forearm, past his elbow… stopping just below the shoulder. His whole arm was pale, appearing somewhat dead.

Anneliese clenched her teeth and locked gazes with Argrave. Then, she held both hands out. She cast the C-rank [Mystic Suture], her hands following along the cracks in his flesh. Blackness appeared along the edges of the wounds, and the flesh itself seemed to sew together without seams.

She stood once the last crack had faded in his flesh. “…the blood loss will still trouble you,” Anneliese said quietly. “That cannot be healed. Not with my magic, at least. You will be anemic for a time, but considering your unique constitution… not as long as most.”

Argrave rolled down his sleeve and gave her a quiet nod. He tested his arm. Now that the adrenaline was gone, it felt stiff, numb, much like one’s fingers when left out in the cold.

“Thank you,” he said, moving away from the archway.

I always will,” she returned. She tripped over a root, clearly exhausted,

held in one arm, Argrave called out, “We’ve bought time. Small break, gather ourselves, and

looked up and nodded, then quickly lowered his head again as though the act made him more nauseous. Argrave looked towards the center of the crater, where the jagged bolt of rot marring the beautiful landscape rushing water seemed

#####

His arm regained its mobility after a few dozen minutes, but his whole body felt heavier, sluggish. Barring the sounds of rushing water, the landscape was eerily quiet—the Sentinels left alive had made their retreat, and now they were holed up in

a grandiose palace of sorts, but this was not a place built for man—indeed,

and wax-ridden plant matter. The upper half of the tree had collapsed, and a great log thicker and taller than any skyscraper was buried beneath the ever-rushing waters of this serene place opposite where they had entered. Its fall had destroyed many

to handle things,” Argrave looked to Durran pointedly. “Defend me as I do things—nothing

nod and took a deep breath to steady his hand. He had obviously been affected by the

Argrave added, “There’ll be

“I scouted ahead. We know

deep breath and exhaled. “Galamon,” he looked to his companion, then stepped ahead without another word. The elven vampire took his place by Argrave’s side, greatsword held at the

brewed those potions we used at the druidic camp,” Argrave said,

they wouldn’t work,” Galamon

wide and alert. As he neared the vast opening on the rotten stump ahead of them, Argrave triggered the Blessing of Supersession. That familiar feeling of an ocean welling up within consumed all of his

sky, and the spell matrix for [Electric Eel] whirled time and time again, sparking constructs dancing up into the

giant lynx. It came with claws first, a waxpox-ridden stinger shortly behind. Argrave cared not what it was—he saw it move, and he cast a C-rank spell, [Wargfire]. A maw of flames emerged, catching the lynx in its teeth. The second enemy came, a dragonfly—he met it with a

He warded away all comers with large, powerful spells, while the left conjured the eels of electricity dancing in the air. When enough had conjured, he would send the prepared attacks towards his enemies. Dozens of the lithe bolts of lightning striking at once left most foes dead, and those that lived still stood at death’s door,

Like this, great or small, all before him fell. What had been a desperate struggle not an

ocean of magic, something deeper. His greater mastery of magic enabled him to see that. He wished to look down, using

Orion. The man would shrug these spells off as though they were nothing, then crush Argrave’s skull with his bare hand. The thought helped in sobering him. Argrave cast one final spell, then lowered his hands. His breathing was as steady as it was when he had walked

quiet, still. Argrave glanced around, paranoid and rattled,

further back,” Argrave urged, stepping ahead while

pushed past the horde of dead and dying, not even sparing a glance behind. Galamon kept

rotten stump, it stopped making sense—they walked for far too long without ever meeting a wall. Argrave was not concerned, but he was disconcerted to experience this place in