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.

not like having to do that. But I always will,” she returned. She tripped

in one arm, Argrave called out, “We’ve bought time. Small

towards the center of the crater, where the jagged bolt of rot marring

#####

wooden platform. 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 the

this was not a place built for man—indeed, it might have been

rotted black wood, half-caved in. Piles and piles of rot and dust lay around this circular building, meshed with masses of disgusting and wax-ridden plant matter. The upper half of the tree had collapsed, and a great log thicker and taller than any skyscraper

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

signaled—he gave a quiet nod and took a deep breath to steady his hand. He

added, “There’ll be no blood

he could tell his words were not entirely dispelling her sentiments. “I scouted ahead. We know what is within. Whenever you are

stepped ahead

we used at the druidic camp,” Argrave said, trying to draw

they wouldn’t work,”

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

into the sanctuary of the god within this vast crater. One hand was held towards the sky, and the spell matrix for [Electric Eel] whirled time and time again, sparking constructs dancing up into the air. The other was outstretched, facing the

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

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

with a spell cast from Garm’s eyes. Like this, great or small, all before him fell. What had been a desperate struggle not an hour ago became an overwhelming defeat for the Sentinels of this exalted

mind, threatening to consume him. He realized there was something more to this ocean of magic, something deeper. His greater mastery of magic enabled him to see that. He wished to look down, using Garm’s eyes to see the magic within… but he feared what was there. He feared ‘Supersession’ had

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

glanced around, paranoid and rattled, power still

stepping ahead while

of dead and dying, not even sparing a glance behind. Galamon kept pace

into the 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 person. The sound of rushing water