06-27-2014, 07:20 AM
The fight was impressive. There was a sense of near passion radiating from the serpentine woman. Her desire to slay the Dreyken radiated. The intensity was not lost to Armande.
He remained apart and well clear of their fighting radius, but he was not completely transfixed. While the spectacle continued any number of vermin might crawl out of the shadows and attack from behind.
His senses splayed apart, tentacles that searched the diameter of the tunnel. Nothing tipped the scales of his instinct, and he resumed to study the fighting techniques of the two creatures.
Dreyken were far better known to him. They haunted the cities like rapists, although to his knowledge they had no interest in carnal desire, but they lurked, waiting and watching. They might toy with their prey's emotions for weeks before they struck so well they could imitate human men. Many Atharim were familiar- or crossed paths with- a Dreyken.
Giovanni was hurt. He nursed the five puncture-wounds with far greater control than Armande expected of a university student. Perhaps his studies carried him into the dark trenches of the world that served to harden him, or perhaps it was something else. With all Armande had seen in his life, he entertained all possibilities.
The five puncture wounds inspired emergence of an image he'd obsessed upon for weeks now. That of the Apollyon holding aloft an arm marred by five horrendous scars that shredded the ouroboros tattoo. In seeing Giovanni's wound, Armande knew now that the Ascendancy must have once faced a Dreyken. At the time the creature could not have known it tasted Apollyon's blood upon its claws. If only the beast had finished the job.
The fight intensified. Her head covering fell and with it, confirmation of her race. No other beast in heaven or hell was human in shape and yet covered with such golden scales. The woman was thrown to the wall, but she rebounded quickly. She fought with edged weapons, and Armande studied her speed, agility, and tactics. No Atharim as he was aware had bore witness to the style by which a naga engaged another combatant. Their logs said the creatures were forged by the gods to be assassins and spies, but they were too independent of mind to fall beneath blind obedience. The way she moved, quiet even in her fighting, the way those golden eyes must see in the dark, and the pitiless way she engaged the Dreyken spoke well to this history.
Instinct brought her arm up in the same manner which Armande himself might have done. It plunged the blade beneath the Dreyken's jaw, and the scrunch of bone, gurgle of blood, and hiss of a scream swallowed came immediately after.
The body fell away limp and the naga turned to face them with the head of her victim dripping from her hand.
He approached carefully. While he was aware of the race's natural gifts of speed and agility, he did not think they also possessed supernatural levels of energy. He watched the pace of her breathing.
"Thank you," he spoke with a false smile moments before attacking.
He remained apart and well clear of their fighting radius, but he was not completely transfixed. While the spectacle continued any number of vermin might crawl out of the shadows and attack from behind.
His senses splayed apart, tentacles that searched the diameter of the tunnel. Nothing tipped the scales of his instinct, and he resumed to study the fighting techniques of the two creatures.
Dreyken were far better known to him. They haunted the cities like rapists, although to his knowledge they had no interest in carnal desire, but they lurked, waiting and watching. They might toy with their prey's emotions for weeks before they struck so well they could imitate human men. Many Atharim were familiar- or crossed paths with- a Dreyken.
Giovanni was hurt. He nursed the five puncture-wounds with far greater control than Armande expected of a university student. Perhaps his studies carried him into the dark trenches of the world that served to harden him, or perhaps it was something else. With all Armande had seen in his life, he entertained all possibilities.
The five puncture wounds inspired emergence of an image he'd obsessed upon for weeks now. That of the Apollyon holding aloft an arm marred by five horrendous scars that shredded the ouroboros tattoo. In seeing Giovanni's wound, Armande knew now that the Ascendancy must have once faced a Dreyken. At the time the creature could not have known it tasted Apollyon's blood upon its claws. If only the beast had finished the job.
The fight intensified. Her head covering fell and with it, confirmation of her race. No other beast in heaven or hell was human in shape and yet covered with such golden scales. The woman was thrown to the wall, but she rebounded quickly. She fought with edged weapons, and Armande studied her speed, agility, and tactics. No Atharim as he was aware had bore witness to the style by which a naga engaged another combatant. Their logs said the creatures were forged by the gods to be assassins and spies, but they were too independent of mind to fall beneath blind obedience. The way she moved, quiet even in her fighting, the way those golden eyes must see in the dark, and the pitiless way she engaged the Dreyken spoke well to this history.
Instinct brought her arm up in the same manner which Armande himself might have done. It plunged the blade beneath the Dreyken's jaw, and the scrunch of bone, gurgle of blood, and hiss of a scream swallowed came immediately after.
The body fell away limp and the naga turned to face them with the head of her victim dripping from her hand.
He approached carefully. While he was aware of the race's natural gifts of speed and agility, he did not think they also possessed supernatural levels of energy. He watched the pace of her breathing.
"Thank you," he spoke with a false smile moments before attacking.