"Angela, run." Julia figures that out of the two of them, without weapons, she’s the one with the best chance of engaging with Crosomer.

"Like hell I'm running, I’m no helpless kitten, either!" She flings her arm forward, and silver light wraps around Crosomer’s sword for a brief second. It's at best, a light tug that sets Crosomer off balance, but then he's standing in a readied position. He wags a finger as if taunting her.

Angela’s telekinetics are getting stronger, she could see the magical aura that time, unlike the tepid motion of flipping her cell phone from the dash to her hand. But it’s not enough here.

"It's not gonna be that easy,” Crosomer says with a sly smile. Angela is quick on the uptake and flings her hand again, fishing for another target–and the broadsword that's currently still sitting on the ground flies to her hand with unerring accuracy, and practically brushes by Crosomer's ear crest along the way. He simply grins.

“I’m a fast learner. We all are.” She takes a defensive stance, blade held firmly.

"Not bad for someone who isn’t even fully Awakened yet, I do love surprises! Telekinetics are the specialty of Maridian silvers, along with a unique ability to enhance a mage barrier to unparalleled strength. But how's your sword arm?"

"Good enough for the task at hand,” Angela states resolutely. Her whole body tenses like a coiled spring. “Julia, you might wanna grab a weapon. Let's see how the geriatric kobold holds up."

"I’ve got two." She puts her hands into a readied stance and tenses. The first order of business was disarming him. And then beating the ever-loving hell out of that smug draconic face. “Follow my lead.”

This is the beginning of a deadly dance, and Crosomer lunges in a flurry of deadly accuracy. It’s too bad that she’s anticipated this, and dodges with agility, weaving between blows while Angela circles to his flank and launches her flurry of attacks. She’s waiting for the moment for him to overextend, and it’s not happening. He’s keeping them both at a distance and Angela, while fully competent in her craft, is up against someone who is also well-trained. He swings lightly, conserving strength and keeping space and optimal positioning, so that they can’t outflank him. He swerves and almost nails her across the face, but he overcorrects.

She grabs his sword arm and pivots the blade away, trying to force him into an awkward position. Her plasma dances across her hand and delivers a burst of energy and he staggers, the charge running down his arms. Angela sees the opening, and brutally slices through his outer clothes–and there’s a clang of metal, her motion interrupted.

“Angie he’s armored, aim for the joints–”

Crosomer utters a single word that sounds like a slither through the air, and a blast of force knocks them both backward. Julia lands in a crouch, and Angela barely flinches, upright and ready. He takes a slow, deliberate step back. “Two on one hardly seems fair, does it? That was a draconic invocation–the language of spells. Sort of an everyman’s means of spellcasting, not nearly as powerful as genetically linked abilities like your plasma or telekinetics, but useful in their own way.”

“Too long we didn't read, he’s got telekinetics, too!” Angela shouts. She’s still strafing off to the right, and Crosmer keeps focusing on Julia, swinging and keeping her from getting inside his swing like last time. He’s decidedly well-practiced, for someone who has spent seven hundred years in isolation. Drenar is snarling in the background and trying to pull the energy strands, but he can’t leverage against them to break them. He’s not happy about it, judging by the occasional swear of frustration.

“Lesson two. Mage battles become a battle of attrition. You may have spell barriers and abilities, but the more you use them, the more it drains the body of mana. Go too far, and you’ll hurt yourself. Go way too far, and you’ll put yourselves into the grave. By the way, that soulful burning you might feel is a good warning sign to let off a bit,” he gives as a gentle hint. “They call it ‘mana burn’ by the way. Because it does burn like a fiend.”

“No, that’s called a venereal disease Crosomer,” Angela quips.

“Can we skip this tutorial boss battle and just get right to the proper fight? You know, the one where the dragon gets to bully around the mage a bit?!” Drenar growls.

“Drenar, catch!” Angela grabs the dagger with a telekinetic grapple and aims it at his outstretched hand, and he deftly catches it. “See if you can cut those strands!”

“Oh that’s not gonna work–”

Julia sees the opportunity to land a crushing kick at his knee, staggering him and throwing his weapon off balance. It’s enough to grapple him and keep the blade away, and she lands a firm blow across his face. He does not appreciate this and grapples with her–he’s immensely strong, and she knows this is problematic. Angela sees the opportunity and slices away again, and he manages to swing the blade just enough to deflect it, but not enough to stop the grazing wound at the joint of the armor that’s showing through his shredded outerwear. Julia tries to snap her fingers and get a plasma spark to connect, and he sees the danger.

“Oh, that’s enough of that!” There’s another invocation and a crackle of energy hits Julia straight in the chest, and this time, it does indeed knock her backwards and there’s a dance of pain and the smell of singed clothing. She groans as she tries to fight through the jolt of being shocked by what feels like lightning, and Angela isn’t faring any better. Her weapon is lying next to her. Crosomer is stalking towards her.

“Angie, move!” Julia snaps her fingers for that familiar spark of energy, thrusts her arm forward, and hopes the small energy projectile is enough to distract him. But a whole other thing happens, and a tendril of energy lashes out from her hand, burning brilliant white-blue, and wraps around Crosomer’s leg. He’s about as shocked as she is, but she doesn’t wait around and heaves backward with all her might, and sends him toppling to the ground in an almost comical spin. And better yet, she’s still linked, and can feel the pulse of energy extending to Crosomer–like an extension of a limb? She pulls Crosomer backward, who is not keen on the deadly warrior being back on her feet so quickly. The lasso doesn't last long and it seemingly evaporates in a blast of sparks, and she stumbles backward. It feels like her fingers are still tingling.

What the hell did I just do? This plasma doesn't respond like normal electricity, it forms a semisolid tether–never mind, butt-kicking now, science later! She shoves her analysis to the side when Crosomer rises from his position. He's quite clearly flustered.

“You have a grappling beam?” Angela gasps, then grins. “You have a freaking grappling beam! I want one, too!”

“So, a couple of mistakes there. One, elemental plasma was a poor choice to incapacitate you two given your extreme resistance, and two, didn’t know you had your aetherial plasma attuned to create semi-solid bonds.” Crosomer swishes the blade back to a ready stance. “Maridians are exceedingly difficult to kill due to their layered defenses, and with learned practice, simple telekinetics are arguably some of the most potent draconic abilities.” Drenar is gripping his dagger awkwardly, and the energy bindings seem to snap at an extremely high pitch when contacted by the blade. Hundreds of the threads bind him to the floor, and he’s still barely able to maneuver to get the closest ones he can reach. “You two are clearly a cut above!”

“No really, if we dial the level of camp any higher in this room, I might as well go get a fire ring and marshmallows.” Drenar is slowly snapping the energy cords with the dagger, which appears to be frighteningly effective against them. It won’t be long before he can start working free of the rest of the snare trap. “Stop gabbing and beat him up!”

“Oh? Is it time to get serious now?” Crosomer stops and grabs the belt of equipment off the table and belts it on, but not before grabbing one of the blue vials and splashing it on the injury on his arm. He flexes the arm, and the injury slowly fades, and the blood flow stops. Julia is already trying to get into position for another attack. She grabs a discarded staff that appears to be simple gleaming metal with a cord-wrapped grip extending halfway to either end. It feels comfortable in her hands, and Crosomer glances her way. “Are you going to beat me with the stick?” He almost laughs at this.

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“No. I’m going to start breaking bones with this ‘stick’ you seem to not think very highly of until you can’t heal back from the damage.” She gives the staff a quick whirl, part flourish, and part for checking the balance and reach. “When Drenar gets free, I don’t think you’re going to enjoy three-on-one.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Let's have one more round, shall we–”

“Crosomer, what are you doing?” A sickly sweet female voice echoes over a radio. “I heard there was some…trouble from some of my soldiers at the mine.”

“Listen, Val, thanks to your dedicated efforts, you turned a delicate situation into one of damage control, I will be dealing with you later. Your men almost killed my research team, who possess irrecoverable knowledge.”

“Sure you don’t need my help?” Judging by the vastly irritated glare Crosomer is aiming toward the hanger door, he very much does not want it. “You know the drill. No bodies, no witnesses.”

“Val, if I wanted your help, I’d ask for it. This is being handled in a way that doesn’t earn us more enemies or extra eyes on our activities,” he snaps. These two do not get along at all, what a completely dysfunctional professional relationship, Julia notes–maybe that was something to take advantage of, later? “You know what, Val, I’ll get back to you.”

“Don’t you hang up on me–” he turns the radio off and looks incensed.

“That murder-happy dragoness is such a royal bitch at times. Oh would you look at that, you’re cutting through the…energy…bindings…how are you doing that?” Crosomer demanded when he saw Drenar snapping the bindings one at a time, and getting increasingly mobile.

“Stubbornness and resilience run in the family, didn’t you know?” he says with a sardonic grin. He’s now able to brace against the floor, pushing the energy bindings to the breaking point even as it causes him a shudder of pain, and there are burnt score marks on his scales.

“And mine. Hey buddy, you’ve still got problems!” Julia taunts before closing in and attacking, and Angela once again tries to flank to the side. Crosomer is fast–lightning fast, and blocks or deflects all of their attacks. The sword practically sparks with energy, and he’s too busy now being on the defense to land a hit on either of them. This continues for several seconds, and she manages to land a sweeping blow, throwing him off-balance. This allows her to grab the sword, keeping it pointed away, and she smashes his face with a plasma-charged fist, and he careens backward and skids to the ground. Critical hit, confirmed, she thinks sardonically. He’s up in an instant and she sees him toss the empty vial he must have drank, and he’s moving fast–way faster than before!

No, it’s worse than that. He’s now able to rain blows in between Angela and Julia, and they can’t get another opening. “Hi there this is fun oh look you missed oh I forgot the side effect can’t talk coherent oh well kay thanks bai!”

Well, that was either a bottle filled with liquid cocaine and amphetamines or he just downed a proverbial potion of haste! She can’t keep up with this speed, and Julia is knocked flat on her back when he bowls into her, same as Angela since they’re unable to keep up, Whatever alchemical solution Crosomer used, also speeds up his reaction times, and he tries to rain down blows on Julia, and she blocks each one unerringly from her prone position.

He tries to stab down in a risky move, and she sweeps his leg and stumbles him–he’s still subject to gravity at the same rate, and she charges as much energy into her fist as her nascent abilities will allow, and lands a brutal strike square in the chest. He slides backward on the ground, groaning, and his armor is now charred. Her hand is shaking and she lets out a roar of victory, before helping Angela up–she was cut up and a near-miss has her arm bleeding.

“Angela, your arm–”

She’s already in motion and cuts through her torn sleeve with the sword, puts a wrap on it from the last of their field kit, and grimaces against the pain. Julia stands guard while Crosomer struggles to rise, and Drenar is cutting through more of the strands, even as a few others reconstruct and threaten to keep him held in place. “We have one more of those–”

“No! Save it for an emergency, we don’t know how potent they are or how high a dosage we can take without risking harm!” she counters fiercely. She has the single remaining regen potion vial out of her pocket, but holds firm. “The hell did he drink earlier?”

“Minratha’s elixir. The tail end of that combat accelerant is not pleasant, either.” Crosomer looks dizzy and unsteady on his feet when he slowly rises. He glances at his scorched armor, then at Julia. “Note to self, less ribenna extract and more spartifor might counter that side-effect more completely. And do away with that overwhelming mint flavor,” he grumbled.

“Are you seriously experimenting with alchemical potions on yourself?” Angela demands and shudders when she tightens the remaining bandage wrap.

“Well, yes. All the best mages brew their potions. Stick around a while, I could teach you stuff. Wizard stuff,” he grins. Julia and Angela look at each other, perplexed.

“He’s utterly mad,” Angela says with resignation.

“Nah, he’s eccentric and still toying with us. I know when someone’s holding back.” Julia replays the last minute in her head. Mages have effective abilities to counter multiple threats with a potion that boosted their reflex time and overall speed, and had protection from even her plasma ability, based on the armor taking the brunt of the attack. There is likely a lot more to it than even that. “Well, Crosomer, you ready to get serious?”

“Fates woman, you’re a glutton for punishment even worse than Drenar,” Angela groans. She’s still brandishing the sword but her off-hand is trembling from the recent injury. “If teenagers with attitude can beat your ass this badly, I’d hate to see what professional soldiers can do to your men.”

“You mean the Conclave? Hahaha. They’re too used to terrorizing people who can’t fight back or making them disappear into a gulag without a trace.” It’s rather unnerving when he laughs boisterously. “Well, this has been refreshing, you’re both clearly talented and I daresay, I almost recognize the fighting style you use for that blade."

He casts the hoodie aside, and there’s a set of brigandine armor under the clothing, with extra padding on his arms and legs, and he's wearing a set of steel bracers that look effective at blocking sword strikes. An emblem decorates the shoulder–a dragon's claw clutching a white flower of some kind–maybe a lily?

“Keep stalling, I’m almost free!” Drenar shouts out. More of the strands are snapping under his unrelenting swipes with the dagger, but there are so many to cut. Crosomer flings a series of metal and plastic canisters at Julia and Angela, and she attempts to deflect one with her staff, but it explodes in a cloud of expanding foam, coating the weapon and fusing to her arm in a viscous foam that instantly hardens. She’s spared the worst of it, but the foam has partially fused her to the ground, and she’s struggling to break free. Angela is worse off, a near miss had trapped her legs, and she’s trying to use the blade to cut through the foam, but to no avail.

“Constraint foam. Gotta love the classics. You know something, Alex always was a bit of a stickler on insisting we not murder all our adversaries and that we give them love and hugs and–you know what, it’s trivial. It’s a great utility that does wonders against enemies you aren’t trying to fill with gaping chest wounds. Or, that part comes later, when they can’t move. Depends on the moment.” Crosomer almost exudes glee.

Julia heaves with all her might and can hear the foam cracking, which means it has limited ability to resist a sharp force. Crosomer is leaning there on his sword, looking amused. “Well, can’t make this too easy. Time to get serious, as you were saying, Julia. Try not to disappoint.” She’s struggling to break free, but this is a futile effort–Crosomer could easily cut them to pieces long before she gets loose.

Death by impalement or slicing wounds is unfortunately not cruel enough. She sees the telltale signs of mana on his hands, a faint blue glow, and those scales on his body are thickening, growing broader. As is his limb structure.

Crosomer is transforming too. Their only chance at survival now is to get Drenar loose, and her plan to brute force out of this is just not going to work this time.