“The Nightstalker?” Cyran murmured, trying out the name on his tongue. It did not ring a bell - though he was an assassin and rogue himself, he hardly paid much attention to other members of the criminal underground of his ilk. There was really hardly a need to. The Specter worked alone, and even when he had to carry out missions with others, he paid little attention to them. Cyran simply preferred to keep to himself; self imposed isolation that was now beginning to show its limitations. “I would be honored to meet her and learn whatever she wishes to share.”

He nodded in response to Master Ronrik’s appraisal.

“What I lack in raw power I make up in speed. Though I must admit I’ve not had a master before… all of my skills are self-taught, and I have only been practicing the blade for a decade.” A long period of time within a human lifespan, perhaps. But for an elf, a decade was nearly inconsequential - Cyran did not see it as such, but he was acutely aware that his life experience did not quite match his combat experience. It was a hard truth that his life existed in a schism - the before, and the after. Though Cyran didn’t want the before to exist, he simply could not deny his old life. A plethora of callouses and fresh scars only indicated that his skin had been malleable and soft enough to cause so much injury. It was a canvas that painted his lack of experience. And in the face of that, Cyran’s natural ease with which he killed.

No matter how bad he’d been at combat once upon a time, the finishing blow always came easy.

He blinked. Focused on the present. Gods, he was getting distracted today, too weighed down by thoughts and memories to feel at ease. A spar, though. That seemed simple enough. Cyran nodded, following Master Ronrik to the training room. Padded mats covered the floor, providing ample space for the two bladesmen to clash. Cyran took in his surroundings, large dummies and yawning shadows from dim lamplight that provided ample places for the elven man to hide. Yes, he could work with this.

Cyran hummed, his only visible eye sparkling with interest. “Impressive.” That was the only word he could think to offer at the moment. His own training room was hardly this expansive - hell, it was, quite literally, an exercise room for kids that he used for meditation and mindfulness whenever he could get a spare moment. It would be a different challenge entirely to have an honest, open fight in a room that had been built with such honor.

He went through the motions of stretching, moving back and forth to get himself loose. When he straightened, he waited for Javal to signal that he was ready - the energetic fellblood, he anticipated, would not take long to prepare himself. Whether he sparred with a real blade or not, Cyran didn’t mind. He twirled his fake-dagger in his hands, bringing it down to his side as he paced the mat in a semicircle, waiting for the signal to start.

“Are you ready, Javal? I’m not going to hold back, so I expect you to do me the same courtesy, kid.”

Real battles did not wait for the signal to start, when both participants were ready. Real battles were not fair. But Cyran would wait on the balls of his feet, only to dash forward the second the battle began, knife brandished in his hand. His momentum and blade so sure that perhaps for a moment Javal would believe that he truly did intend to charge forward in earnest-

But then he would blink and Cyran was gone, no longer in front of him but having moved through space like a ghost, where was he, where was he-? Only the faint impression of a shadow suddenly cast over him would give Javal any indication where Cyran had reappeared.^[1] And as he whirled around, he would find that the attack with the knife had been little more than a feint - for he’d activated the hidden blades in his boots, and was now dropping downwards with a devastating bladed kick aimed right for Javal’s head.^[2]

Alright, Javal. Let’s test your reaction time.

---

1. Blink
2. Ice Skates

Javal’s ears perked up as his master mentioned Lady Emeraldcutter she was always so nice yet so odd at times.



Ronrik cheers up as he hears Cyran respond, “I’m sure she’d be happy to take on another student, she hasn’t had one in a while”.



Javal placed his armor on that he had left in the training room yesterday clad in black and red colored armor he stood across from Cyran wielding his blade in its sheathed state not trying to hurt Cyran. He was already slightly traumatized from sparring after he had accidentally impaled Danae during their spar when he lost control and got too excited.



He steeled himself ready to go at any moment and shifted himself into a fighting stance.



Ronrik stood on a small wooden table to the side of the mat the two were fighting on and raised his hand into the air before yelling, “Begin”.



Javal nodded and charged forth ready to clash with Cyran and try to overpower him to land another strike.



As he slashed downwards he suddenly realized that Cyran wasn’t in front of him and some shadow quickly appeared above him as Javal looked up to see what it was he suddenly heard the sounds of blades whizzing through the air.



He barely has enough time to duck under his position and slash at the floor in front of him, “Cyran you sly fellow you almost damn near took my head off. Huh, looks like I have to go serious”.



He then quickly charges forward where he hears the noise and slashes diagonally with his sword as he says, “Javal Style: Single Slash”.



He then spins around ready to anticipate another strike from Cyran at his back knowing his stealthy skills and stabs his sword placing his weight into a singular point at the air in front of him saying, “Javal Style: Lotus Break”.



Ronrik only chuckles in response, “Good job, boy you remember the two first forms, let's see what else you two kids can show me”.

A split second between life and death. That was all that hung between Cyran and Javal the second that his bladed boot soared right for his face. Should it have been allowed to connect, it would have carved a gash from temple to throat. Javal was quick to dissuade that, though, ducking downwards so the only piece of him that Cyran’s blade cut through was a piece of his ponytail. Momentum carried Cyran through the rest of the kick, and gravity finished the rest - he landed with a soft thud, immediately shifting his stance to right himself.

Javal’s first style was quick to meet him, a diagonal blow that Cyran leaned away from - not quick enough - and received a gash from his arm for the trouble. If he felt the pain, it didn’t show on the keen assassin’s face. He’d been in enough life or death situations to tap into that adrenaline, keep moving. Javal whipped around, not letting up on the attack, determined to strike fast and strike hard. Good. He wasn’t going to let Cyran gather the momentum to gain the upper hand. It would have been a sound strategy if Cyran was less adaptable. As Javal charged his next attack, though, Cyran darted closer, though, raising his fake dagger as if going to stab the swordsman in the gut -

And then he dropped the blade, freeing both of his hands up the second that Javal shifted his weight for the Lotus Break. Before he could complete the move, Cyran’s free hands moved to snake upwards, almost reptilian in nature, like a dance. One striking at a point under his armpit, a nerve that sent a jolt up his spine - the second clamping at his wrist, squeezing just enough to force Javal to drop his blade.^[1] Theseus clattered to the ground, allowing Cyran to kick it with one bladed foot, hooking the curved part of his own skate around a part of the hilt, sending the sword soaring through the air until the blade embedded itself in a nearby training dummy with a loud THUNK.

Javal had effectively been disarmed in one movement.

“Weapons aren’t everything.” Cyran warned, letting go of Javal’s wrist and retreating - standing between the fellblood and the sword, almost in a defensive position. If Javal wanted his blade back, he’d have to find a way around the assassin. And Cyran had already proven he didn’t need a knife to be effective.

---

1. Viper Dance

As Javal went in for Lotus Break and was expecting Cyran to at least jump back and he’d be able to get some distance in for another attack he was quickly surprised.



He felt a lucky strike at his armpit. He couldn't help but laugh at first since he was incredibly ticklish before feeling a sharp pain that jolted throughout his spine to his wrist and suddenly he dropped his dear katana.



He looked down to see it on the floor about to pick it up before suddenly seeing Cyran hit it with his skate and into a training dummy loudly.



He chuckles, “Damn your really good Cyran I got a lot to learn”, he then smirks and holds his hand out attempting to trick Dvadio into thinking he was summoning his blade back to him. Only to send out the two metal plates (1) on his armor straight at Cyran quickly using that as a distraction he jumped over to the training dummy and took out his blade from it jumping back into battle using the small hook (2) on his blade on Cyran’s dagger that he had dropped to the floor pulling it back and grabbing it into his hand.



He held both in his hand and then charged forward once again holding the dagger in his other hand slowly hoping to be able to pull off his sneaky move.

---

1. Flying Fist
2. Katana (Hooked Enchant)

It was only experience in being shot at with any number of projectiles that Cyran raised his hands, clasping them together just in the instant that the bladed plate of the gauntlet would have pierced his throat.^[1] The second struck his wrist a second later - a blow not meant to kill, knowing he’d have the skill to stop it, but one to stun him while his opponent made their way for the true objective. And it worked, for a second.

“Clever.” Cyran murmured under his breath; he would not waste much oxygen responding to retorts, but he himself was a teacher. Difficult to shake the habit of critiquing and praising when necessary. Rather than engage, Cyran took the moment to retreat, putting distance between himself and Javal.

He wanted to use Cyran’s own weapon against him? So be it.

Cyran reached into his bag, grabbing a fistful of spiked balls; he tossed them into the air, gravity doing the rest as he scattered them along the floor, covering every available inch he could reach between himself and the rampaging Javal.^[2] if he wanted to keep charging, he’d have to force himself to run through poisonous spikes and injure his feet. Regardless, Cyran wasn’t going to give him the chance to test his determination. The assassin leapt for the wall, his center of gravity shifting while he broke into a dead sprint.^[3]

But Cyran wasn’t going to stop there. As he ran the perimeter of the training dojo wall, he summoned the shadows to his aid, forming a mirror copy of himself that began running in the opposite direction.^[4] Two perfect Cyrans, nigh indistinguishable from one another, both running along the walls and watching Javal to see what he’d do. Would Javal figure out which one was the real Cyran? Would they pounce before he could? Even without a weapon, Cyran was determined to make Javal think, to challenge him. How would he react now?

---

1. Steel Catch
2. Sea Urchin Caltrops
3. Boots of Spiderclimb
4. Shadow Clone

Javal saw Cyran throw something in the air and looked down to see that there were spiky balls on the floor, “Crap gotta do something, don't want to have my feet hurt later”, he thinks.



An idea strikes into his head as he continues charging but at the last second, he activates a spell he glows a bright purple and hovers (1) over the sea urchin caltrops only for a second just enough to make it past the traps on the floor and land in the spot where Cyranw was before.



“I did it, yes”, he says as he scans the room his expression goes from excitement to confusion, “Oh no there are two Cyran’s this is unfair”, he says before realizing that most likely one of the Cyrans was a shadow clone or something like that.



He smirks, “Tricky as always my friend”, he collects water in the air (2) around him and quickly sends it flying in a circle around him aiming at both the Cyrans in the wall.



He then throws Cyran’s dagger at one of the Cyran’s as his smashing wave spell hits both hoping to damage the real Cyran as he prepares himself for his retaliation.



Ronrik chuckles before standing up and making tea for himself opening one of the secret compartments on the floor as he continues to look on at the battle.

---

1. Fairy Dust
2. Smashing Wave

There was nothing Cyran could do to stop the hovering - Javal may have successfully evaded the trap, but that was just fine. Cyran had still effectively limited his mobility. What he could do, however, was tug at the woven strings of formulae arcanum in the air, strands that clung to Javal as he moved - though Cyran himself could not see them, nothing could escape the watchful eyes of the shadows. Cyran, the real one, held out his fist and yanked, and all at once the circle of water shifted and morphed, transforming from harsh waves to a wall of healing light that washed over both of the Cyrans.^[1]

The double got hit by the dagger, nothing he could do about that as the other Cyran dissolved into shadow and slunk back to his side, coiling protectively around his legs.

Well. If Javal was going to be upping the ante, then Cyran could no longer be content staying on the defensive. A pair of spectral wings burst from his back, darkened shadows that were just a touch too big for the space they were in - but he paid that little mind as he crouched and vaulted off the wall, throwing himself right at Javal. Rather than grabbing for his own dagger, though, he wrapped his legs around Javal’s torso -

And his wings dissipated, Cyran keeping a tight grip on the fellblood as he twisted and fell, hoping gravity and his own weight would send them both plummeting to the ground, where the caltrops glimmered.

---

1. Chaos Warp - Smashing Wave to Massive Healing
2. Bat Wings - ended early

Javal looked around seeing the result of his tricky attack and looked surprised as he saw the small wave he sent around him changed and instead healed Cyran. He was proud of getting rid of the other Cyran and having only to deal with one of them.



Javal’s face went into confusion as Cyran leaped off the wall he was on with a pair of strange giant dark wings on him he quickly tried to duck to leap to the dagger in front of him in case Cyran went for his weapon only to find himself quickly entrapped by Cyran’s arms and firmly stuck in his grip at his torso.



He tried to wriggle out of Cyran’s grasp but looked back to see that he was trying to catch Javal on the caltrops on the floor.



"Sneaky Cyran", he whispers before suddenly melting into water before Cyran’s hands and shifting his form into a snake made out of water as he wraps around the reforms on Cyran’s back and jumps off to the other side of the Caltrops.



He quickly reforms back to his original form and says, “You gotta try harder than that my friend”, pointing his katana at him.



He then whispers, “Javal Style: Blade Spin'', and throws his sword in a quick and spinning fashion at Cyran’s chest.

---

1. Liquidate

2. Boomerang Arc

His gambit would have worked if Javal did not… change form beneath his grip, solid becoming liquid that dripped to the floor. Startled, Cyran could not muster the energy to catch himself or summon his wings. He hit the ground, shoulder taking the brunt of the blow, a dull thud from the impact and the sting from his own caltrops. He clenched his teeth to prevent an expletive from leaving his mouth; he couldn’t afford to show pain here. Not even in a training scenario. He pulled himself to his feet, plucking one of the venomous urchins from his skin and dropping it to the floor once more while Javal reformed outside of his trap - leaving Cyran in the middle. The tide, reversed.

Before his very eyes the flow of battle shifted, Javal responding to his light provocations with ease and manipulating the decision to his favor. He embodied the very water that flowed around him. Ever shifting, ever moving, a torrent of blades and the force of a tsunami.

Okay. Javal wanted to play?

Cyran would play.

He snapped his fingers in the moment that Javal threw his sword in an arc, the lantern behind him extinguishing at once - creating a yawning darkness behind him.^[1] He and Javal had fought side by side before, in plenty of life or death situations. He knew what made Javal tick. The young man had a keen sense of honor, and if he had to hazard a guess, he would say that even extended to training. Javal would press the advantage enough to win, but never enough to force Cyran’s hand, or put him in a position where there would actually be a threat to his life. And that was the difference between them.

Cyran treated every battle like life or death. He couldn’t afford to flinch. He was not strong and unyielding, nor did he possess Javal’s ocean of bravery. But he had an understanding of what needed to be done. And right now, that meant stepping backwards into his own trap, to scrape his feet and deal with the sting of the venom to embrace the comfort of the shadows.^[2]

He disappeared just as the blade grazed his chest - and the shadows pulled him away from the boomerang’s arc. There was stillness, silence, and then -

Cyran appeared right behind Javal, cloaked in the fellblood’s own shadow, a smile carved across his torso from the blade’s spin.

“You’re good with a blade. Versatile.” He commented; a risk, drawing attention to himself. Giving Javal a moment to react. But, ah, he supposed there were parts of him he’d never be able to cover up. “But you need to pay better attention to your blind spots.”

He curled his hand into a fist, glass-shards of ice coating his arm, and leveled a punch straight at Javal’s back.^[3]

---

1. Remove Light
2. Shadow Walk (Shadow Dancer IV)
3. Cold Fist

Javal quickly looked to the left of him as he saw a curious appearing lantern,

Javal quickly looked over as he saw a lantern before seeing nothing but the darkened room even his sensei’s candles he had set on his table were extinguished.

He tried looking into the shadows as Cyran disappeared from his sight, “Tricky Cyran, where are you?”, he said quizically confused at the other man’s disappearance.


Javal suddenly heard a voice appear from behind him he then immediately coated his body with small vines and spikes (1) protecting himself from the quick freezing fist.


He shudders although not feeling the full brunt of the blow still unnerved by the sudden freezing feeling and hard punch.

He then touches Cyran’s fists causing the elven man to float (2) a few inches off the ground and intot the air before sending his fist straight into the man’s abdomen and into the floor. He sent Cyran straight into the floor breaking some of the wood under him as he shakes his fist.

---

1. Sprout
2. Fairy Dust

The assassin’s instinct was a hard thing to quell.

Cyran so rarely fought in situations that were not life or death. His body moved faster than his brain - a forced, conscious effort to taper his adrenaline, the fight-or-flight response that seized his veins in an attempt to convince him Javal is trying to kill you, you need to kill him first, KILL HIM FIRST. They were friends, in a master’s dojo. A controlled environment. He would not seriously hurt Javal, and the fellblood would not hurt him.

Or so he thought.

But then he leveled a punch at Javal aimed straight for the small of his spine that splintered some of the ice covering his arm, a glancing blow that would have broken a vertebrae if he possessed Del’s strength, and something in the air… shifted. It was barely a shift in the wind, Javal’s sudden silence as Cyran finally made his first attack. But the Specter’s perspicacious nature had not yet strayed him wrong.

It was a bit like watching a snake slithering between reeds of tall grass. There was always a moment when the predator’s gaze changed - a single, definitive moment in which they committed to the kill. For Javal, that was the moment vines and spikes sprouted around him to catch Cyran’s fist and he whirled around, arcane magic shimmering in the air.^[1] Cyran recognized the spell as an odd lightness overtook his stomach, pulling him off the ground - but there was little he could do about the sensation as the lack of gravity pressing down on him was immediately superseded by the feeling of pain, agony, hurt in his stomach and he was thrown to the wood flooring hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs and splinter the ground around him.

Cyran wheezed, that dark coiled thing in his stomach stirring at the sudden, blossoming pain through his torso. Javal… hadn’t pulled that punch. He couldn’t breathe. Panic bubbled in his throat in tandem with the coppery taste of blood, but Cyran tamped it down, a sense of surety and calmness washing over him. In the second before Javal could pull away and continue the assault, Cyran whipped his arm upwards, the one whose ice had been cracked from the last punch, and drove a shard straight into his torso - aiming for a gap between the plates of his armor. Just enough to stun him, enough for Cyran to tap into the comfort of the shadows once more. Forced his body to move, move, move. The shadows seemed to reach out to him as Cyran’s form almost became… darker, more translucent as Javal’s fist fell through him, hitting the floor.^[2] Cyran stood, leaping backwards and putting as much distance between them as possible.

His eyes were wild for the briefest moment as the darkness stirred and writhed around him, angry. His shadow picked itself up, almost like it was peeling off the ground, until it took form, a spectral woman with long, flowing hair that resembled dark ink, pouring over Cyran.^[3] A smirk of wicked delight danced across her lips, turning to stare at Javal. She patted Cyran’s shoulder once as the assassin held his arm out, fingers elongating into black claws that dripped with amorphous shadow, skin along his arm turning pure black, all the way up past his tunic and ending at his shoulder. A cold expression on his face, the Specter dashed forward, continuing his assault, dragging his claws through Javal’s armor like butter, tearing at the skin underneath with the fury of a dark miasma.^[4]

He was not playing games anymore.

---

1. Expanded Mind (Astral Soul I)
2. Phase Walk
3. Spirit Guardian (Rowan Only - 2 Hit Preventions)
4. Death Swipe, enhanced by Spirit Shroud

Javal felt bad as he saw his friend on the ground. He was about to stop the whole match altogether in embarrassment before stopping in his place trying to fight off a rising feeling in his chest. Suddenly as he was distracted deep in thought about his internal conflict he felt a large piercing feeling he looked down to see an ice shard in his padding quickly causing the padding piece of armor to fall to the floor.



He felt a familiar feeling that Javal tried so hard to hold off whenever he fought someone, his violent and dark impulses. That’s the main reason during childhood he needed an older mentor figure, to guide and quell those feelings. Whenever Javal fought there was a feeling of control being lost as the fight continued longer and when he fought against strong opponents. He couldn’t see his opponent as a person anymore; he just saw a figure in front of him he needed to crush. His battle for control over his actions would be lost and he would enter a frenzied state of pure battlehunger. Javal was usually okay with losing but against strong opponents feelings of self-hate and greed would emerge, and this was one of these moments against Cyran. He felt a large pit in his stomach, a sinking feeling that he was losing control but the more he tried to fight it the more he just ignored it, Cyran was strong and so was he. He wanted to beat Cyran, give the assassin fellow everything he had in his body he didn’t care about holding back anymore, he just cared about winning now.



He looked back at Cyran as the man suddenly was surrounded by a ghostly woman figure who started it, it unnerved him.



He raised his blade at Cyran but suddenly a familiar figure appeared behind him, a bright angelic woman with bright red fiery hair appeared holding the man’s shoulders as she glared at Cyran as he charged forth. Uriel then held Javal’s head causing a small ring of light (1) to surround to crown the man’s noggin. She then whispered to Javal, “I’m here for you, my chosen, I shall protect you from any darkness that arrives, all you need to do is crush this man, he’s too dangerous”.



This surprised the fellblood distracting him for a moment before Cyran hit him ripping apart his gauntlets and pauldrons causing the armor to fall to the floor with a clank, broken. Although he didn't feel not he dark damage from the attack due to Uriel’s blessing it still caused the fellblood pain as now there was a large claw mark etched on his right arm.


The fellblood glared at Cyran no longer seeing the man as a trusted friend anymore in the moment his vision blurred, barely able to recognize the man’s features anymore as he was starting to lose more and more of his control.



Javal stands before sprinting forward attempting to slash Cyran he swings his blade behind him before slashing it forth at Cyran twisting his other side and swinging his blade once more causing an x-shaped slash attack, he then whispers, “Javal Style: Divine Tide Crossing” (2).

---

1. Heavenly Infusion.

2. Katana Slash (Double Strike, Angelic Light, Water Rune, Bull’s Strength)

The jovial pretense of a spar had dropped. No longer was there a light feeling of sportsmanship in the air, no camaraderie between two friends who knew that any scrapes and bruises accumulated during battle would be left in the dojo, an exercise for the sake of learning. No; Javal was aiming for the kill, mortal blows and Herculean strength as if to pry the victory from Cyran’s cold hands. What happened? What changed?

Cyran frowned, a troubled expression tugging at the corners of his expression. Rowan Pavyre hovered behind him, blinking thoughtfully at the fellblood. She knew him about as much as Cyran knew him, for she was always hovering unseen in the recesses of his memories and haunting the hallowed mansion of his unwaking mind. She’d always thought the fellow a bit of a fool, all brute strength softened by smiles and an optimistic nature and friendliness. She’d never seen him behave like this… which meant neither had Cyran.

And as the holy figure flickered behind him, a halo of pure light flickering at the crown of his head and framing his dark hair, the part of Cyran’s heart that was no longer compartmentalized - the small, vulnerable piece of him who still knew this was his friend - sank.

Oh, no.

He could not hear what the woman had whispered, but Javal’s eyes flickered with righteous determination. Shit. He had to bring an end to this before it got any further, through force if it need be - unfortunately, his dark claws seemed to glance off of Javal, the faith in his own righteousness a holy shield from Cyran’s umbral rage. Armor tore apart like paper, a dark gash along his inked arm - Cyran briefly winced in sympathy but he could not afford to linger in the guilt. Not when his blows meant nothing with divine providence protecting the swordsman.

Focus. Reassess.

Dark energy wasn’t working and Cyran still did not want to summon his knives. The longer this kept up, though, the grim realization set in that he might not have a choice in the matter.

It was then that Javal danced forward, on the offensive - another one of his blade maneuvers. His technique sharpened, speed uncanny. Too fast for Cyran to react properly, but not fast enough to outwit the devil on his shoulder, whose long claws wrapped around the fabric of his tunic and yanked him backwards from the blow with a burst of cold air and laughter before her form flickered out entirely.^[1]

“Mind your head.”

Cyran didn’t even let the attack rest a second before casting off his jacket - the tattoos on his arms on full display, spiraling moon charts and glowing north stars. He tapped one of the marks on his right arm, the magical rune pulsating as the formulae arcanum drew on the cold moisture in the air and solidified around his arm - turning his very hand into a blade of pure, sharpened verglas.^[2]

Cyran’s turn to go on the offensive now.

He raised his impromptu blade, dashing forward with his knife poised to strike - only to dip low in another feint, whirling his entire body around and shifting his weight onto his back leg while he brought his foot up in a low kick, and with startling speed whipping his foot upwards, aiming a blow at the head - and finishing with a third and final spinning kick downwards with the force of gravity to knock him off his feet at the ankles.^[3]

---

1. (2/2 Hit Preventions used - Rowan)
2. Ice Knife tattoo
3. Espadrille Question Mark

Javal was surprised that Cyran was able to dodge his blow. He glanced at the ghostly woman hanging over him, whoever it was it made him anxious, something about her just didn’t sit right with the swordsman. Uriel held her hands on his shoulders still her visage firm in its will to protect him from any of Cyran’s dark-coated attacks.


He then smirked as he saw that Cyran had taken off his jacket, “Looks like you’re getting serious there fellow”, he said as he stood a couple of feet from the elf assassin.



He was surprised to see that the air around his elven opponent grew frigid and coated his arm with pure ice shaped into a blade.



He grinned from ear to ear, “You turned your arm into a blade of Ice, damn Cyran, you are just a complete surprise”, the rising feeling of rage within him was growing larger and larger. It began to get mixed with a hint of excitement and wonder as he felt compelled by his opponent to go as serious as he could.



Javal grinned before charging forth with his katana raised ready to clash against Cyran’s blade of ice before his eyes widened as he realized the knife was just a trick to divert his attention towards the following attack. The blue fellblood immediately fell for the low kick trying to block his body expecting a kick to his chest or side but feeling the large pain of the blow to the right side of his head then got pushed to the floor with Cyran’s last kick.



He quickly got before the loud sound of his greaves and faulds falling to the floor, breaking only his helmet, hood, and red cuirass remaining. Javal coughed up some blood as before wiping it from his mouth with his left hand a wild grin on his face.



His body felt hot, almost scorching his inside. He held his blood-covered hand to his chest as he felt his heart beating quickly and pumping blood at an accelerated rate. He glanced over at Cyran using the last of his self-control to shout, “I’m sorry Cyran but now I must get deadly serious”, smoke then started coming out his mouth, and his red eyes changed color to pure yellow covering even the sclera of his eyeballs. Bright red markings appeared all over his body; his stance changed from energetic and wild to calm and calculated.



He then glanced once more at Cyran whoever this time it appeared that any form of jovialness or light-heartedness was gone only replaced by seriousness and malice. He raised his left hand twisting his face into a maniac grin before motioning the elf to come before touching his body with his left hand that glowed green. Once again the fellblood’s body was coated with vines and thorns (1)


He sprinted forward faster than before shaping his left hand that wasn’t holding his katana into an open palm as he neared Cyran he conjured a bubble (2) in the middle of his hand he clenched it causing the bubble to surround his arm as he made a fist now covered by a bubble and thorns slamming his fists into Cyran’s chest as hard as he could whispering, “Leviathan Style: Thorn Bubble”.

---

1. Sprout

2. Bouncing Bubble (Bull’s Strength)

That feint at least took care of some of his armor. The assassin chipped away at Javal’s defenses, still holding back - still not quite wanting to do lasting damage to his friend. This might not have been fully Javal in the head, whatever having taken root in his mind whispering madness into him and egging him on, but it was still his body. Hell, he still even sounded like himself, but there was something clearly wrong, even if Cyran couldn’t quite put his finger on what. First order of business - knock some sense into him and then figure out what was wrong. Cyran pulled back the moment he finished his blow, ice-knife still brandished and wicked cold, dry air wafting off of the material. The assassin panted, wiping at a bead of sweat on his brow.

He wasn’t quite exhausted; not yet. But Javal was slowly but surely sapping away his stamina with every blow, every devastating punch.

Javal whipped his head up to where Cyran was, mouth stained with a crimson smile.

Cyran was no stranger to divine intervention, really. He’d known people with angelic hosts, felt the touch of godly servants meddling with mortal affairs. But whatever was taking hold of his friend, the feral bloodlust that suddenly overtook the young man. It wasn’t natural. Far too strange to even be considered your run of the mill unnatural. And the only thing Cyran could think as Javal darted towards him was, what in the world happened to you?

Well. You couldn’t say that Cyran was without his own faults. Not when there were parts of him that were still too soft for his own damn good.

Cyran was so overtaken with concern that he didn’t have time to stop the oncoming blow, another bruise in the thorough beating Javal was delivering to him. He wheezed, feeling something in his ribs shift and crack as he was flung backwards, hitting the far wall hard enough to rattle the panels. His back felt like it was on fire, he could taste blood in his mouth, and Cyran knew it was time to bring this fucking game to an end.

“I’m sorry, Javal.” Cyran whispered, hoping the young man would not be too cross with him for what he was going to have to do. The shadows around him flickered once more, responding to the anger of their master - and with a flick of his wrist Cyran sent them spiraling outwards, coiling and ricocheting off one another before moving in sync, lifting up the caltrops that still littered the ground. They hovered for a second, until Cyran pointed straight at Javal, and the shadows obeyed. All at once the minuscule objects launched at him - hair, throat, eyes, anything that would distract him the most.^[1] Cyran could play dirty, too.

The assassin picked himself up from the wall, drawing from that wellspring of dark magic within him to speed up his actions.^[2] He had to strike quick and fast - Javal swung like a beast, so Cyran just had to work harder to avoid his fists. In a blur, he stabbed straight at Javal’s side, aiming to jab the knife right into the flesh of his torso. Pushed his will as far as he could, channeling all of the willpower and authority he could into a single warning blow. His stern voice echoed through Javal’s mind like a dart slipped between chinks in a suit of armor.^[3]

Javal. Snap out of this before I make you snap out of it.

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1. Telekinesis
2. Quicken
3. Mind Parasite