POV Drake Brothers
There wasn’t a need for any words. The two [Lesser Drakes] turned their whole attention to the insect that had dared to kill their youngest brother. Rising from where he had been mourning their brother, Jaak opened his mouth and belched flame toward the creature. Siirnaak joined him, roaring in rage, his jaw shifting partially into its more animalistic form. The screech of the large insect was like music to their ears but it wasn’t enough.
Both brothers acted on instinct and shifted into their true forms, their bodies crackling into living flame before hardening into rigid scales carved from the fire. Frills of flame formed around their lizard-like jaws before a sail of flame ignited down their backs. There was no more playing as they leaped to rip the bug in half.
Their rage blinded them to all other things as they tore into the insect savagely, only to stagger back as black tendrils reached out of the shadows to grab them. They fought their bonds, breathing fire in great curtains to burn them away. Even as they did so, more flickered forth to snag limbs.
In their panic, they lost sight of the insect and when they looked again, they found it gone; in its place, they saw a sight that caused their flames to flicker in abject fear and terror.
POV Fomorian Stalker
The Fomorian Stalker soaked up the fear of the [Lesser Drakes] like it was the richest of vintages. The creature shuddered in ecstasy at the feeling, knowing that this was what he had been created for. He looked to where his siblings had already begun to engage and found his enjoyment mirrored in their snarling visages. He could feel his Master’s anger at these invaders and the Fomorian Stalker was here to give his response.
He snarled in satisfaction and felt his fangs elongate in anticipation. He was utterly dwarfed by the larger drakes but he didn’t mind. He leaped forward and jumped, evading a fan of flame that gushed forth from the leftmost drake. Using a lasso of shadows the Stalker encircled the drake’s snout and pulled himself toward it. As it tried to recover, he kicked off a flat plane of shadow, slammed his foot, empowered by darkness, into the fairy creature, and sent it hurtling into the wall.
His brother and sister took on the other drake, his seniority of a few moments allowing him to punish the other. He took off, just as the drake shook itself as it emerged from the ruin of the wall. He slammed into it again causing its midriff to concave and air to whoosh out of its lungs in a plume of smoke.
He cackled madly giving his kind’s screech of victory as he pummeled the invader into the ground and walls. It wasn’t even a contest. Oh, he got scorched a couple of times but each time he simply dug his fangs into the drake and let its Aether-rich blood heal his wounds. It ended abruptly as it always did in such a brawl. The drake got weaker and the Stalker got stronger. It took only one mistake but the Stalker was not one for mercy.
The drake snapped its head forward to take a bite out of him but was slow to retract its head when it missed. The Stalker didn’t hesitate as it slammed a spike of shadow straight through the invader’s eye into its brain. Even then the creature didn’t immediately die, its remaining Aether reserves in its blood trying to heal it.
It clawed at the spike, dealing more damage to itself in the process. Even as it succeeded in ripping out the spike the Stalker simply expanded spikes from the end and the invader lobotomized itself, pulling its own brain out of its eye sockets.
The Stalker smirked and turned to find that its siblings had succeeded in their kill as well, not that there had been any doubt. He greeted them with a screech of victory and they responded. He gave them a fanged, wolfen grin only to whirl when a similar roar to their own answered their screeches. Barreling toward them were figures much like their own but wrong somehow.
They moved similarly and had similar forms but they did not hop from shadow to shadow like a Stalker. They were also too large, loping toward them at a height of around nine inches. The form in front was even larger and moved with a grace the others didn’t have.
They smelled wrong, like a drink gone sour. The Aether around them twisted in odd ways and the Stalker snarled at them as their Master commanded them to engage. They were invaders and they would meet their end here.
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POV Warmeister Geckodo
Geckodo howled as he saw his targets in the distance. They stood triumphant over some other invaders and his blood seethed as he took in their arrogant stances. He would show the Dungeon how a real F*@#ErrorN fought. He fought through the pain of the thoughts rushing through his head, thoughts long denied his kind. They were Fallen, and the god's-blood no longer acknowledged them. Well, Geckodo would force it to.
There was no pausing and posturing where both sides sized each other up before engaging in combat. There was only a closing of the distance and a brutal clash. Geckodo felt his fangs and claws enlarge before he threw himself at the central figure. His warriors went after the other two but he was unable to keep track of them.
His opponent required all of his years of experience and savagery. They were a whirlwind of fur and blood as they flashed from place to place. The template would fade into shadow at times to disengage but the Warmeister would simply follow the blood to where it would reappear before engaging again.
He kept on the smaller creature, his mouth ever braying for more blood. His claws left gashes and his fangs drank from its Aether-rich blood. It was strong, this template, but it was no Warmeister of the Blood. As far as he had Fallen, Geckodo felt more and more like his old self as he fought this fake illusion. The creature darted around leaping off of shadows and empowering its strikes but Geckodo shrugged off the worst of it, relying on his powers to heal him.
That changed however when the last of his warriors fell. He sensed it, like a shifting tide on the far north sea. One by one they were defeated until he could sense the other two templates charging him. They were weakened from the battle but not enough. He growled low in his throat and delved deeper into his instincts.
They came quickly and attacked simultaneously, darting around him like wolves on a bear. He dodged what he couldn’t block but more and more strikes hit, his greater size now plaguing him. The fakes were flagging as well but there were three of them and their powers made them especially suited to the frenetic shifting pace of the battle.
Geckodo’s flanks dripped with blood from numerous gashes in his hide and his regeneration could no longer keep up with the frequency of his wounds. He began to pant even as he scored his own wounds on his opponents. The remainder of the fight was quick and brutal, ending with him gasping for air through lungs filling with blood.
He staggered as one of the fakes pulled their claws from his chest. He went to one knee and struggled to breathe. This. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Even kneeling he towered above them. He looked down at the three templates and took in their sorry states. He had almost done it. He could have proven his people’s worth to the Dungeon and the gods both.
He continued to glare at the three as the central creature raised its claws once more. No. He was Warmeister of the Fallen. He could not fail. Not now. He let out a gurgling roar and swiped his claw out at them forcing them away. He staggered upright and focused all his willpower on making his mangled vocal cords work.
“By…Blood…I…Am…Reborn!”
As the last notes of his roar faded, he could feel the shift inside as the old magic tried to ignite. It sparked, twisted Aether gushing forth in waves and radiating off of his body. Even as it did so something snapped. Geckodo howled in pain as his insides shattered and were remade. He watched as the magic latched onto his fallen warriors and stripped them of blood and bone.
He watched as the tide of gore flooded into him, remaking him into something else. His mind strengthened even as it cracked under the strain of the magic. He grew in size and then his body condensed the extra mass into hard muscle but the pain never left him.
The false templates were not idle during this time. They continued to dart in and claw at his new form but their strikes had a harder time breaking through. He cackled madly and lurched forward with a speed that shocked even him. It was more by luck than anything else that he was able to hit the creature but when he did it rocketed away from him and slammed into the wall of the Dungeon with a crunch. He laughed again as more Aether filled his blood and body. His eyes crackled as he began the slaughter.
POV The High Spirits
“Well, that is not good,” Ile’Fen stated dryly as Trik’Weri nodded in agreement beside him. Trik’Weri looked at the letters that were emblazoned next to the creature, lit in the same manner as the system they had built for the Divine Cores.
Shattered Avatar of the Fallen Shard - (Fallen, Unique, Rank B - Silver)
“Yes, not good indeed,” Trik’Weri muttered. He sent out a call to his other brothers and sisters so they would be aware of the issue. “We may need to intervene after all. I did not expect there to be any surviving Fallen with the ability to do this.”
“Neither did I brother,” Ile’Fen responded. “Regardless there may be opportunity here.” At Trik’Weri’s raised eyebrow, Ile’Fen continued. “Conflict breeds opportunity and that soul is conflicted at its very heart. Valterra may gain something tremendous from the resolution of that conflict. We shall see.” Having said his piece he turned to gaze into the pool once more and Trik’Weri followed suit, each of them lost in their own thoughts.