High in the sky, they circled each other. Despite keeping his remaining storm mana on a tight leash, the weather had only grown harsher. Tension surged in the air on the cusp of throwing sparks. The natural world combating his intrusion of mana.
Below them, the fighting had largely ceased. The Purists falling on their knees. Their armor and weapons were removed as they rested on their knees. Even the tethered were giving up, if a little slower than the soldiers. It seemed Dhaakir had no interest in protecting them and the warriors were coming to realize this.
Eventually, the trance, within which the triplet master found himself, would fade, and he’d curse himself for letting them be captured. In the unlikely event that he should live that long.
“You seem angry, Northman.” Dhaakir yelled over the storm. His strained voice cracked and broke with the effort, though he hardly seemed to notice. His form was but a blurry speck hidden by snow and obsidian. “You must fight with a calm head.”
Ranvir snorted. “For fighting you? Are you certain, old man?”
Dhaakir cared not for his taunts, instead of shaking his head and approaching. Stones slingshot out of his control. Screaming through the storm, their passing ripped currents into the winds. Yet these attacks were easily dodged.
Ranvir lashed out similarly, Sand Spear Barrage blasting apart on Dhaakir’s defenses before returning to his storage. Sandstorm Vortex was almost indistinguishable as it swirled about him. Thin runnels of sand spinning around his body, enhancing his strength and toughness.
“Is this about the girl? You know I wouldn’t harm her. So as long as she tells me how she came upon her double element.”
“Somehow, I don’t trust your words, Dhaakir.”
“Why? Because I have a soldier’s reputation? I was a soldier. I fought in wars. They are dirty, filthy things and they force dirty and filthy behavior out of you. Force you to them, if you want to survive.”
Ranvir shook his head. “The strong are not held to someone else’s rules. They cannot be. If you were so thwarted, you were never strong to begin with.”
Dhaakir fell silent, more projectiles flung towards him. Still easily dodged. So far the triplet master had yet to extend his Lance and so was incapable of controlling them past the admittedly vast range of his Mantle.
“Or perhaps,” Ranvir said, sending a continuous torrent of spears toward Dhaakir. “You enjoyed hiding behind the rules that came before you. Enjoyed crawling the shadows of your predecessor.”
It was unlikely that he could draw Dhaakir out of his current mental state enough to halt his oncoming transformation, but it would be the preferable outcome.
“Spoken like a youth,” Dhaakir’s words reached Ranvir as much Perception as the force of his spirit. On the edges, where their Disciplines touched, a connection was forming. Not dissimilar to the bond between bonded and animal before their merger.
Translating intent into complex words and phrases was, to Ranvir’s surprise, easy. Even Dhaakir, who had no experience with esoteric mana typings such as translation, managed it instinctively.
Delving deeper into the budding connection, Ranvir understood. Their souls were meeting, new mana appeared. Created or transformed, he didn’t know. It was like translation mana, yet specifically an amalgamation of concepts made directly for them. No one else would’ve been able to understand, or even hear them.
This hadn’t happened to Ranvir before. When he’d fought Sabas, he’d been weaker. Perhaps it had to do with them speaking the same language. Or simply the nature of a fold, eating up any such mana that might’ve been created. The fight with Graywing hadn’t created such an effect either, though something had been brewing between them.
The fight with the Purist masters had not released such a force either, though perhaps he’d been a little too out of it to understand if it had. It could be an effect of him, facing off against a strong opponent, or perhaps even Dhaakir’s altered state.
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A case worth studying.
“I told you. Keep your mind on the fight.”
Obsidian hurled toward Ranvir, bigger than his chest. Leaping off hardened space sent him swerving off to the left. The rock sailed past easily. A Lance thundered past Ranvir, fully extended and raw with force.
The moment Dhaakir touched the rock, it exploded. Particles ripped to all sides, rapid and razor sharp. Feathers and blood joined the already busy space around Ranvir as he fell out of the air. Cuts streaked his left side. Rocks sticking out of his side. One had deflected off his hip bone and slid fully under his skin.
Growling through the pain, Ranvir sent a Dune Blow after the pursuing Dhaakir. The nature of his sand mana meant it was unlikely to meaningfully penetrate his shield, but that much mass forced him back.
Tether-sense lashing out, Ranvir got a better sense of his surroundings. Dhaakir had swiftly thrown off the attack and was already closing in. His face was as flat as the stone he controlled. Uncaring and unaware of his own body, he fought on. A dogged hound, each step taking him closer to the edge of revelation.
Below him, tension and levered open teeth. Ready to spring on him should he falter. So long as Dhaakir remained strong, he need not worry about them. Should he show a weakness after the fight. Perhaps the trap jaws might find a target this morning, anyway.
Halting his descent, Ranvir sent another hail of sand towards Dhaakir. The attack slowed him some, yet he barreled through. Half a dozen storm bolts, concentrated and swift, hammered the barrier.
Layers bulged and diverted. Dhaakir’s attuned technique faltered for a moment. Sand tore through it eagerly. Ranvir upped the output of his spears, putting all his draw into the attack. The spears lost what edge they once had, turning instead to oblong balls. A yellow glow cast from Ranvir. The spilled mana occasionally condensing into spilled mana falling into the wind.
The barrage grew, sand raining down for hundreds of meters. Dhaakir burst out the side, moments before Ranvir’s store ran dry. Still, he was already gathering for another attack.
Dhaakir, his body covered in abrasions and bleeding from his temple, turned beetle like eyes on Ranvir. He had kept only the innermost layer of his obsidian, though he was already retrieving his pieces from the still falling cloud of sand.
Ranvir raced into the cloud, gathering material as quickly as he could.
“Most impressive-,” Dhaakir said, though Ranvir didn’t wait to hear him finish.
Amanaris
***
Sand Bastion - 319
Surrounding himself in Sand Bastion, the grains surrounding him thickly, providing protection even Vortex couldn’t match. Ranvir went in for melee. With half his power on Vortex enhancing his strength and the other half on Bastion, he launched at the old man.
Immediately, Dhaakir’s training became evident. Ranvir was at best a perfunctory combatant. Dhaakir’s experience alone posed trouble. Though even then, he could not match the young Elusrian’s physical might. His Heart Discipline was couldn’t provide the power needed.
Ducking a blow, he guarded against another, grunting as the punch rocked his spirit and sent him back a foot. Obsidian blasted about them, deflecting off Sand Bastion. Ranvir narrowed his eyes and closed again, yet the wind was soon shut out. The black glass whipping past, a chorus of whistling cries drowning out all else.
Fending off a kick, Ranvir’s head whipped to the side, a lash of pain across his temples. His elbow was bitten sharply. Thigh, shoulder, wing, foot, arm, foot. Obsidian was punching through his defense. More and more easily.
Ranvir backed off, letting his Bastion reform, yet it couldn’t protect him fully. Not against such a strictly controlled technique. Dhaakir, despite fighting in close quarters, wasn’t even cut.
Sweeping down to gather more sand, Ranvir narrowed his eyes at Dhaakir. His Mantle expanded again, ranging out to half-length, as if to lure him in.
“I thought, feared really, that you’d be stronger,” Ranvir confessed. His wounds ached, especially his hip, yet he was not in a bad way.
“I’ll get there,” there was a distinct familiar gleam in Dhaakir’s eyes.
“I know,” Ranvir nodded, purple light gleaming. “Yet, I’m not worried. Being outnumbered was far worse.”
Dhaakir’s face twitched. Ranvir snorted. Of course, that would be the thing to get a rise out of him. Shaking his head, he spoke, “No one person could match the effort of fighting so many Disciplines. Or rather, I should say, ‘no man.’”
“You think to take me on so easily? You really believe you will just win? Confident.” He’d returned to calm once more. It didn’t really matter. Ranvir had taken his mettle, and he wasn’t overly impressed.
Preparing a Dune Blow, he slipped through space. Wind howling at his speed, he appeared within the circle of Dhaakir’s Mantle. Immediately, the old man’s spirit attempted to lock him down, but on that field he simply wasn’t Ranvir’s match. Age made up some difference, but not enough.
Point blank, Ranvir released the Ability. The black storm fell apart as Dhaakir blew into the ground.
For long moments, Dhaakir struggled to his feet. His burns wept clear liquid and blood. He seeped from every pore as he struggled into the air.
In the dark of his sockets, cold heat burned. A gray light sparked to life, his spirit finally aligned. His Mantle burned with power, enough to sear the senses.
“Finally!”