Lucian couldn’t use the Bearstopper Guard here; the force of the Wildfire Kite’s tail was something altogether different from the mere membrane of its wing. Out of desperate resolve, he took up a stance and harnessed a technique his master had gone to great lengths to hammer into him. Knifetongue had also gone to great lengths to hammer into him that he was not to use it unless the alternative was certain death until his training reached the volume where it was written down.
Despite the obvious reasons not to, Lucian shoved his war-knife into his wrist, pushing it up his arm as far as it would go, between his forearm bones, but without severing any major veins. It was infernally tricky, especially since he had not been able to practice it directly. The saving grace was that he could harden his arm partially to reduce the odds of an accident. The pain was… Lesser than he had anticipated. Blood gushed out of the wound, but none of the arteries had been cut.
He slipped closer towards the Kite, biding his time. A painstaking, eternal second and a half, tilting his body back, holding his arms in a painful and awkward position to align his blade with the beast’s tail and ensure he could swing it high enough to sever it before it whipped around to grasp and pulverize him.
SIGN OF DESPERATE VALOR
SHEATHED WITHIN MY FLESH
SHARPENED ON MY BONES
OILED WITH MY BLOOD
THIS BLADE IS MY LIFE
MY LIFE IS THIS BLADE
BAYONET-EATER’S CREED
LIVING SHEATH CROSSCUT
Following the motion of his slash, a deluge of blood flowed out of his arm, trailing the tip of his blade. More and more flowed, until, well before blade met scale, the kriegsmesser had grown twice and half again in length.
In an instant, the dragon’s tail was parted from its body, and a great shockwave of crimson sent it flying whilst also coating everything in the vicinity with Lucian’s blood. The hemomantic construct had exploded the instant its purpose was fulfilled, for every bit of power holding it together had been spent, and then some. The dragon's roar shook the air and the earth underfoot, filled with anger and disbelief rather than pain.
Lucian continued forward, desperately pushing his body even further beyond its limits to get out of harm’s way before the ground rose up to meet his face.
Makhus hopped to the side despite having an opening for an attack, trying to get Lucian in his sightline. Acala had shown him a far worse future than the one which had come to pass. Out of sixteen possibilities, there were only four in which Lucian’s self-sacrificial technique worked correctly. Out of these four, there were only two in which he carried it out without severing his veins and immediately collapsing. At least, such was the armour’s prediction.
Stolen story; please report.
Whether it was luck, fate, skill, or sheer grit carrying him through, the young man had managed to sever the dragon descendant’s tail before jumping just far enough to avoid the barrage of fiery arrows that instantaneously rained down in his wake. His movements immediately grew sluggish, and he stumbled a few more meters before collapsing, barely keeping himself semi-upright with his sword. Rivulets of blood trickled from his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, his gaze hazy and unfocused, his body wracked by convulsive spasms; the backlash of his overexertion. Even still, he somehow mustered the inhuman force of will to bring out his tablet, pulling out a bottle of Witch’s Brew and a canister of Borean wound-sealant, “Fryg’s Salve”. He didn't smear the salve onto the wound so much as he slathered his fingers in it and shoved them into the hole that was his wrist.
The blade was not in much better shape than its wielder; the edge was completely stripped, and the fact it had not snapped was even more of a miracle. It seemed to melt into Lucian’s hand at the grip; the same blood that had overpowered the sword was now holding it together.
Sending out a wordless aetherwave ping, Lydia signaled that now was the right time to finish the beast. She sprung into action, catapulting Vysaga to a spot far above the dragon’s head. The sword already burned with a redoubled charge, more a black blur shrouded in cherry-pink lightning than a distinct blade. A moment passed as Vysaga hung there, only for the lightning to coalesce around it, forced into a shape vaguely resemblant of a blade.
With an exertion of will so great it made tears of blood burst from Lydia’s right eye, she howled: “GO TO PERUN!”
PERUN'S ARROW
LOOSED FROM ON HIGH
ATOP THE STORMBLOOM
MAN’S OWN DIVINE JUDGMENT
WRESTED FROM THE GODS OF OLD
STORMBLOOM ARTS
FULGURITE PILEDRIVER
Vysaga came crashing down from above with the force of a lightning strike, and the Kite's advance was halted. The blade flowed along an erratic trajectory, adjusting its course from one split-second to the next as it sought the path of least resistance to the ground.
That path was through the dragon’s nostril, through its mouth, and into the forest floor, slamming it shut. Great gusts of flame erupted out the sides of the beast’s maw, and it emitted a muted roar of pain as the trapped flame built up past its tolerance, scorching its gums. The discharge of thunderous power into the ground was such that the carbonized soil came alive once more, lichtenberg figures spreading out in all directions, baking the subsurface clay in a few spots into fulgurite - the reason for the technique’s name.
Wasting no time, Makhus had already triggered his suit’s injectors and switched the mask valve. The modified helmet contained two fogging canisters: A normal one, and a special one containing a compound that didn’t work as an injectable. Rather it worked, but it reacted in his blood with the others, causing internal bleeding. Thus, this alternate delivery vector was needed. His heart pounded in his ears, the breath burned in his lungs and the blood boiled in his veins.
“Full… Release! If I can be good enough for just a second, that will suffice!”
“Alert. Alert. Heart arrhythmia detected. Minor internal bleeding- Blood toxicity- Spiritual overstrain- Cognitive overload detected!” Acala’s stern monotone sounded inside his head, warning him of his aberrant biometrics, but he mentally dismissed them all right away. He pressed the override button, forcing the belt to resonate its core with his soul whilst also disabling all of the armour’s limiters.