Ishar had been taking in slow deep breaths, with even slower exhales. Calming himself, hoping that it would keep him from answering the call of chaos that forged a core part of himself. In what felt like a lifetime ago, Ishar had encountered Ovek, the God of chaos and traded his sanity for a chance to change his fate and the fates of those he cared about. Now, in that dark part of himself where his sanity once lay, sits a boiling sea of things that are unfathomable, and his emotions drive him into their very depths. There, within him, was release. An abandoning of all symmetry and order and sense, a discarding of civility and alignment. All he had to do was plunge into the depths of madness, give total abandon to chaos and exult in the power that comes with channeling a God.
But he'd been hesitant, the more he gave himself to chaos, the more he felt himself slipping away. The longer it took him to regain his sense of self, the harder it was to know what matters and what is expected of him. Madness was tethered to him, and Niada ever feared she would one day lose him to it completely.
"Mbengo." The Binorian with the pinched scarred face spat in his face.
Ishar took quick shallow breaths, the parameters he'd set to ensure he did not lose himself crumbled like a sand castle against the tide. He felt himself wading into the shallows of the sea of chaos, and further into the depths of madness. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he knew they were no longer violet. That checked the man before him who stumbled back a step. One held a blade to his neck, two gripped his arms.
The ropes binding his wrists appeared to be as weak as a strand of string and he tested this by parting his arms, and just as easily as string, the ropes cut and fell to the desert floor. The one with the sword moved to thrust but Ishar gripped the blade, sharp edge digging into his palm but for some reason he did not think it could cut him, he felt it was as brittle as glass and sure enough, the blade broke within his grip and no part of it punctured his skin. The Binorian remained holding the hilt of a broken sword, eyes wide, mouth hanging open like a fish. There was a loud boom as Ishar slapped him in one quick motion, his palm meeting his face. Ishar felt as cheekbone, jaw, eye socket, teeth and skull where his hand met, all shattered. The Binorian was flung five paces away, he rolled, stopped, tried to get up on shaky limbs and turned to his companions. Half his face was gone, his eye dangled from its broken socket. He coughed, teeth spilled from his mouth and clattered upon the desert floor. His limbs gave way and he collapsed.
The two Binorians flanking Ishar had their attention on the man Ishar had slapped, so did everyone else. Ishar didn't see what the big deal was, he could do far worse. He moved with purpose, mayhem flooding his limbs. The one on the right didn't register the elbow coming to his face even as it burst his head open. The one on the left had his sword swinging and Ishar gripped the wrist of his sword arm, twisted and broke it. The sword fell and Ishar gripped the hilt before the sword touched the ground. The man's scream was cut short as Ishar raised the blade and brought the sword down on the man, cleaving him from the shoulder all the way to the hip. Blood splattered Ishar.
The one with the red cloth around his head screamed something. Ishar didn't understand what was said but judging from the men charging towards him, blades raised, what was said required an answer. Ishar sprung to meet the two score men darting his way, but they moved too slowly, every stride of theirs were three of his. And the blade in his hand moved faster than theirs. In a moment he was among them. Ishar drove the sword up a man's groin, switched his grip and tagged the blade up, spilling the man's guts onto the ground. He blocked a swipe by another, ducked beneath the blade of one more, then spun around with his sword arm extended, cutting three men in half just above the waist. He parried a thrust then stoved a man's chest in with a well timed kick, flinging him into his partner and sending both men to the ground with tangled limbs.
A Binorian attempted to tackle Ishar and implement a Form of Awe so as to give his companions a chance to overwhelm him from the ground. He dove for Ishar's waist after having discarded his sword to better enable the grappling technique. Ishar's blade met him as he came through the air with an upward swing and drive that rivaled the man's diving momentum. He was split neatly in half from his head all the way to his groin. He flopped in two equal parts that flanked Ishar and that checked the attacking Binorians.
They stood around him now, less than half what they were. Shifting their weight from one foot to the other. Eyes wide and limbs clearly trembling. Ishar stood tall, blade dangling in his hand, surrounded with gore, dismembered limbs, the dead and the dying. Several who were knocking on death's door moaned on the ground, the sound forcing those still living to steal glances at them, wondering as to whether or not they too shall soon be in the same predicament, making the same sounds.
Ishar's eyes scanned the men around him until it landed on the one who'd called him a mbengo. He stood some distance from the rest, sword drawn. A look of utter contempt and fear marred his already hideous face. "You call me an insect that stinks when crushed," Ishar called out to him. "Yet the smell that taints the air is that of your own crushed men. Tell me, Binorian, what smell will you emit when I crush you?"
"Hunters!" Zigzil cried out. "Flower formation, inner petals implement Grind while the outer petals impliment Pride." The Binorian Hunters moved to obey. They surrounded Ishar in a concentric pattern that dug towards him diagonally with his sides susceptible to those standing further back. Those closer parted their feet and held their swords in the form of Grind while those some distance away raised themselves in the form of Pride, angling for attacks coming from above. Those with Grind lurched and Ishar was attacked from four directions at once, thrusts and swipes aiming at his mid section and lower. Ishar danced away from the blades, blocked some with the swings of his blade but before he could give an answering attack those enforcing the Form of Pride attacked from above and the blades met his skin, tearing it and sending blood welling. A thrust dug into his arm piercing him below the elbow. A low attack had a sword driven into his thigh and a cut across his abdomen leaked blood.
They attacked orderly at each opening availed to them, like a blooming flower they opened and flowed in a systematic attack and each time their blades bit flesh they attacked with more vigor, believing their quarry to be on the back foot and incapable of giving answer. They grew bold, they banked on order and believed themselves to be invincible because of it. They did not know Ishar, they did not know his very breath rivaled the existence of order.
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Ishar smiled at one of the men approaching in the form of Pride who thrust from above and discarded his sword. With both hands he gripped the man's arm, saw the surprise on his pudgy face and started swinging him around as if he weighed no more than a stick. The man screamed but as he collided with his fellow Hunters, his screams turned to grunts. He slammed into another Binorian, his legs broke as he shattered the man's neck. Ishar raised him, maintaining the spinning momentum and brought him down on an approaching Grind enforcer. The two men mashed together in a tangle of broken limbs and that checked the hunters for a span once more. An availed moment that was enough for Ishar to call to his God.
"Ovek!" Ishar cried out as the hunters regained their resolve in the face of his mayhem. "Some advice?" They formed the flower formation around him, the fallen being stepped over, swords being brandished in shaky arms.
Advice... Mmmh. He heard the God of Chaos speak within his mind. I am the God of Chaos, what advice can be found in such a thing? Maybe the evidence of destruction left in its wake.
Ishar shifted his head to the ground around him. Taking in the mutilation and death dealt by his hand. A Hunter, paler with loss of blood, crawled his way away from Ishar, his entrails dragging behind him. With madness you inflict pain. Ovek continued. Ishar's eyes darted to a man laying prone on the ground, a diagonal cut running from his chest to his hip the reason he was insensate. With Chaos you bring oblivion.
He felt it then, like a soft whisper welling deep within him to become a shout so jubilant it washed over the pain dealt by the cuts and sword thrusts upon his flesh. He didn't feel pain as he listened to the sound of Chaos, he felt nothing but a need to exist without bounds.
"Attack! You fools! Attack!" Zigzil commanded. His men rushed to obey. Those implementing the form of Grind swiping down for mid and lower attacks while those of Pride came from above..... And met death.
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Zigzil felt a tremor taking a hold of him, making his sword wiggle in his grasp. The Kolotians, the bug formed by the Gods to be crushed. The thing whose only value was their fingers, a commodity that made up his whole career. They were practically nothing. Killing a Kolotian had the same effect as squashing a bug, there was no remorse, not a moment spent on pity or grief. And they were so easy to kill, he'd killed some himself. He'd watched others kill them. They were weak, choosing to plead rather than fight. When he'd seen this bunch of Kolotians beneath the dunes, he knew that he'd found an outlet to channel the rage and shame brought about by the Talisi woman and her Telinete Rhino who have been wrecking havoc at the Hunter encampment for the past three days, claiming Binorian lives. It was so easy to kill Kolotians ... Yet.
The one they faced now refused to die.
He is no man! He'd gleamed as much when the Kolotian cut Jefrith, Griadieal and Singsil in one underhand swipe of the blade, severing their bodies in half. *He is no man!*And his thought had been seconded by the wails of the battered, shattered and torn, sprawled around the desert floor. And now as they encroached upon him in the flower formation once more, the Kolotian raised his head and laughed and in that laugh was a sound akin to the scratching of nails upon supple skin. There was pain there, a desolute sound rid of all that made a man what he was.
"Attack! Attack!" He cried out despite his fear. And a part of him that he never knew existed gave thanks to the fact that he carried rank and hence wasn't to be part of those within the Kolotian's range. He turned his head to the animal's fellow Kolotians, believing that they'd have long since escaped only to find themselves huddled together in dark cluster upon the desert floor, including those that had been lying insensate a moment before. Their violet eyes, made visible by the flickering torchlight, spoke of awe. A complete opposite of the mind numbing fear that had engulfed him. I will kill them all, let them stare at the animal at work, but just like an animal it will be put down and then it's their hands I shall—
The thought trailed off to stillness, it's ending mired by that which greeted his eyes. The flower formation, a strategic technique spoken of in the book The Prowess of the mind as the surest way to hold one channeling the Jojoh Meena was absolutely useless in the face of the Kolotian.
Those of Grind attacked the unarmed man, a sure thrust and swipe of their blades that was met with— nothing. The Kolotian pounced on the first man, brought him down with a clawed rake of the hand against his face and the man screamed as skin and flesh peeled off his face. The ones behind him moved to attack but the Kolotian was on all fours. Tumbling forward beneath legs, bringing men down by snapping their legs in two as if they were nothing more than sticks before following up with his hand upon their throats, crushing and turning screams into strained exhales. They were dying, his men were dying. He watched as one was flung ten feet into the air, screaming as he met the ground with a wet thud. The Kolotian gripped a sword and limbs and heads started flying. They were seven, then six, then five. My men are dying!
He did not know why he couldn't give the order to retreat, he did not know why he could not move or speak. At that moment his mind trailed back to Synthia, his woman back in the Southlocal of Binoria. He'd made her a promise, he'd spend a half decade in the desert then he'd return with enough gold to sway her uptight father into giving him her hand. Synthia, that day beneath the Mirel wood canopy, the sun touching your face through gaps amidst the leaves. That smile you held as you promised me that you'll wait for my return. What I'd give to see that smile and feel that sun upon my skin.
Jeffrith and Fulikwa, the remaining Hunters facing the Kolotian, each gave a shout and charged. Their heads flew from their necks, their bodies remained standing, still unaware that they were already dead. Their blood sprayed up into the air and came down upon the Kolotian, bathing him in red. Beneath that thick brow, amber eyes gleamed and fell on Zigzil. Then the Kolotian started making his way towards him, the wounds his men had dealt upon him didn't impede his stride. What I'd give to feel the sun upon my skin one more time. Zigzil thought as the Kolotian approached, manic smiled etched with malice upon his blood soaked face. When the ground opens beneath you, plunging you into the abyss, you cling to anything at hand for salvation.
"I apologize." Zigzil said. And the Kolotian paused mid stride. "I apologize for calling you a mbengo” He added.
The Kolotian nodded and his smile resided. "You're forgiven." He said and turned away. Walked some distance to a patch of ground free of gore, lowered himself and curled into a ball. Within moments he was snoring.
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