Rumble on RPA Gold Match. U vs DreamLand

[John]

The mist floated in the cool night air as Nazgul appeared in front of the large obsidian crypt at the center of the sprawling graveyard. A large metal door that appeared to have no means of opening adorned the front of the building which was at least twice the size of any of the other building in the graveyard. Rows of graves, markers of every size and style, seemed to stretch out into infinity. Unmarred except in their symmetry except for the mausoleums which seemed to have been placed haphazardly about.

With a wave of his hand the two combatants appeared about a hundred feet apart with the Witchking, and the crypt, dead center of the two. Nazgul made a hissing noise and passed his hand in front of the door. A loud constant ticking sound could now be heard emanating from the building. The sound filled every part of the cemetery as if many clocks had been placed at it's edges.

"Begin," Nazgul hissed the word and then disappeared.

((Let me congratulate both of you for making it here. Now, this will be done a little differently than the other battles before this. You each have a maximum of ten posts each for the battle. However, we will not be putting a time limit on you. All I ask is that you don't make us wait a month.

As for the judges, there will be three. They are Shepherd, Kris and B(Blue_Tornado).

Once you both have six posts each, stop and wait for my post.

Details: The building in the center is indestructible. Also, the ticking noise will get louder each time you post until I jump in.

Good luck to you both.

And now, for the thousands in attendance, and the millions watching all over the world.

LET"S GET READY TO RUUUUMBLE!!))

[DreamLand]

From the depths of the mist, the boy thought he heard a familiar voice call to him. He began to walk away from the stadium between worlds, desperate to find its' owner.

"Amleth..."

It was soothing...

"Sweet little Amleth."

...calming...

"It's been so long."

...beautiful...

"I wonder...do you still remember me?"

...her.

Amleth stopped. If there were any words worth speaking, his frozen tongue would not allow it. All the Alk could do was stand in awe and marvel - until his senses led him back to the path of reality. He was no fool.

His voice was far more even and tempered than I would have expected. "Stop this nonsense." I complied, and the girl's vision faded from his sight.

"Why did you find that necessary?" His voice was cold but non-threatening; he knew nothing a mortal could say would strike fear into the heart of a god. Still I felt it only fair to give him an answer.

"Just a last minute reminder of what you are fighting for." My voice became excited. "You've made it to the very end of the road after all! Surely, whatever you fight next will be a competitor of the finest variety. Should your will falter in the battle to come, just remember that precious girl you once failed. That blonde, radiant hair. Those big, white eyes. That soft, porcelain skin. The voice of a songbird. Her brave, kind soul-

He laughed. "You think you know so much, don't you?"

I paused, and within the moment, he was spirited away. For the last time.

----------------------------------------

The mist that had taken him away so many times decided to linger for this final battle. It surrounded him from every angle, serving to severely hamper his range of sight no matter which direction he faced. Even if the mist had decided against observing the fight, Amleth would have found it difficult to make much sense of his surroundings. The temperature was polar to that of the prior arena, his throat and lungs now coated with an icy chill. Each breath he took only seemed to add to the density of the mist. His mask's lenses were clouded, and no matter how many times he cleared them with a rub, the obscureness would only return. The Alk unbuckled his mask and dropped it upon the ground, begrudgingly having come to accept that it would only do more harm than good.

His mask now removed, Amleth could feel the wind whisper across his face for the first time in years. The sensation seemed foreign at first, but his skin soon adjusted to this odd, nostalgic feeling. His stained, white hair blew only in slight; nevertheless, he pleasured the feeling. Most importantly, his vision had improved modestly.

The unmasked contender turned to his left, and his foot made contact with a most peculiar object. He began to briefly examine it; what was this strange stone? He looked to his sides and found that it was but one of many. It seemed that much attention to detail had been given on their placement, as they formed perfectly symmetrical rows and columns; great for hiding, no doubt. Each had likely been the subject of a fine mason capable of shaping stone as well as he could carve it. But why had such expense been paid to the placement of these stones? Even more curiously, why did each stone seem to be unique in size and style? Was each one a marker of some sort? Were they perhaps meant to form a chronicle of some legendary event? Did he stand in yet another place of holiness? Or...

Only then, with strained eyes, was Amleth able to gain sight of the battle's overseer. He recognized him from a previous round in the tournament, where he had been pitted against that most fearsome warrior. The Alk had expected a verbose speech to set the tone of this grand finale, but received in it's steed what was but a single word.

"Begin."

My champion thought that lone word to be more powerful than any speech. His nerves rocked. His stomach tingled. And as he drew his flaregun from it's holster, his voice trembled with anticipation.

"Let's."

Despite the impairment of his fogged lenses having been removed from the equation, Amleth's sight was still too poor as to allow him to see his foe. Did he stand some place in front of him? Or was he already in hiding? He had already determined that illumination of the area would be likely favourable -hence why he drew his flaregun - of course barring the fact that such action could possibly compromise his own position. The Alk aimed the flare in front of him, raising his arm slightly above level. He pulled the trigger, and in turn the blazing flare shot forward with blinding speed.

Amleth did not expect to locate a man-sized target on his first shot. Needless to say though, this target was somewhat larger than he had anticipated.

[Auki]

Her eyes were dead. Hollow. The curse of age, their executioner. Lesser species spoke of cultivating maturity in their later years. Ruan knew such concepts to be naivety. The mind could develop at whatever rate it was allowed. It could blossom even before a person’s prime was reached. In some that she knew, it still hadn’t sophisticated as senility began to settle in. Deterioration was one’s only guarantee, a steady decline of glory.

Bones - her very core - the essence of structure that had kept her standing even as the winds were screaming and the snow came pelting down. Now, so frail, threatening to crumble if the breeze were to shift direction. Muscles – once all-powerful – allowing her to dip amongst the clouds with greater speed than any man-made object were capable. They strained under her weight now, yearning to lie down for their final rest. Fire – how she missed its taste – the bittersweet heat tickling at her tongue as it streamed between her teeth. She longed to release it again but it was a risk she wouldn’t take unless no alternative could be conjured.

She would give it all up again just to regain her vision but, as it was, the eerie magnificence of the arena was lost to her eyes. The unearthly necropolis sprawling beyond the horizon. Chiselled stone stabbing the dishevelled soil in mark of each deceased, a thousandfold or more, as many as one could count. Each building appearing to be expertly crafted - carved with a desire for perfection - and then left, to be forgotten.

Even spirits would not linger in such a dire place as this but it was not through vision that Ruan knew this. The atmosphere seemed to drain all warmth from her body.

There was a dampness to the air that clung heavily to each particle, weighing down on her massive form. Although she knew it to be a mere trick of the mind, it felt oppressing to the blind creature, as though a pressure was attempting to force her closer to the ground. Her legs held strong against the illusion but she could not avoid its bite; a thin sheen of liquid coated her scales as the mist draped over her, stinging her skin with its chill. At first she was grateful to escape the icy temper of the wind present in her previous round but, as time elapsed, she resented the way the still air enveloped her, all the more intimidating in her amaurotic condition.

She took a step forward to steady herself and felt her foot sink slightly into dishevelled soil, haphazardly churned for reasons she could not fathom. There was no way for her to be aware of the graves dotted so abundantly beneath her form. Even had she, there were more important things to her mind than paying the human corpses crushed beneath her feet any respect.

The sound came out of nowhere and gave no warning.

Tick… Tick… Tick…

Were she not wary of making such assumptions, she might have guessed its source to be a clock. Steady and unchanging, the rhythm reverberated throughout the arena. Even as she heard voices speak, the noise was more prominent to her mind, unwavering as it pounded through her head. For many it might be a minor irritant but she felt its relentless beat tapping inside her skull, scratching at her mind in the presentiment of a migraine. Not knowing its source made it all the more disturbing and, although she tried her best to convince herself, she felt it too sinister to be the work of a simple timepiece.

It did not ease the tension in her mind, the uncertainty that was surfacing in the company of her final battle. Whatever her opponent, she knew it must be fearsome and likely in better shape than herself.

At least, that was what she was expecting.

Her tongue flicked into the air, escaping her jaws only temporarily before she withdrew it. Her nostrils twitched as she inhaled deeply, extracting the scents of the battlefield from the mist. Had she not been so dubious of the possibility, she might have believed her senses when they warned her of the nearby humanoid.

Tick… Tick… Tick…

Perhaps it was that accursed sound disorientating her mind or perhaps it was a deception of her foe. Both seemed more probable than the survival of a mere human to the final battle stage. Admittedly, it would be naïve to let her guard down so swiftly but it took all her willpower not to dismiss her opponent as nothing more than a nuisance. In the back of her mind, she was already fanaticising of feasting on its flesh.

The sound was so slight that she might have missed it had she not been so alert to her surroundings. A gentle click, dampened by the mist and threatening to be swallowed by the ceaseless ticking of the arena. Ruan cocked her head in curiosity, wondering if it were perhaps an indication of the battle’s initiation. The feeling was short-lived.

Her left knee threatened to buckle as it was blasted by an unknown projectile. The force with which it did so surprised the dragon although it did not cause her much pain. It licked at her scales with heat but it did not pierce them. She snarled; partly at the audacity of the attack but also because of her ignorance. Never before had she fought a mage and as such, the possibility of facing one had slipped her mind. Maybe caution would be necessary after all. She doubted his first attack to be his most powerful spell.

Her tail swept the surrounding area, crushing gravestones beneath it as though they were pebbles. She did not pay them any heed, instead searching for larger constructs. She found one of a suitable size a few feet to her left, an eight-foot statue of a lonely angel, her forlorn expression frozen in the dirtied marble. Ruan’s tail snaked around it, ripping it from the ground with minimal effort. Her lack of experience with mages made her anxious - She needed to test the power of her enemy’s magic before she advanced. Her snout located the direction of his scent and she launched the statue towards it with as much force as she could muster.

[DreamLand]

The small red rocket lit the way ahead, and for roughly ninety feet of travel, nothing of particular interest - that is of course, not to say he was not intrigued by those strange stones, In between those few moments after the hissing flare was fired but before it had met its' unset mark, Amleth took another flare in hand, intent on taking another shot once the first burnt out. No matter what the foe, this battle was sure to descend into a trial of hit-and-run tactics, hiding, and sneak attacks; an ideal scenario for one so well-versed in asymmetrical, guerrilla combat. Thus, having quite possibly spoiled his position, he had little intent to linger long after the flame of his flying torch had faded.

But he did not. Instead, the Alk's body froze in horrifying mixture of fear, confusion and despair. The flare made contact, something which under normal circumstances would have proven to be an amazing little bit of luck. Instead, his action had drawn the attention of something he would have been much sooner off having not. His light had only provided him with no more than five seconds of illumination after having made contact, but it was enough to give him a good view of his final opponent. That is rather, he had view of part of his opponent. His own vision still poor, attempting to examine something at that distance was an unreliable task for strained eyes.

Much the same as everything else here today, this creature was totally foreign from anything he had ever become familiar with. Dragons and other reptiles were almost unheard of in his world, so his frame of reference was limited only to vague assumptions and raw instinct. The monster's size was tremendous, for even the tallest of Liloths paled in comparison. It's skin was a beautiful, pale white, but even at a glance the assumption could be made that it's durability was, at the least, formidable. It's feet - or rather, the one he could see in full sight - was adorned with claws he was led to believe could end the lives of ten Alk with a single swing. It's face made Amleth wonder if he had come across some sort of oni. There was, of course, far more to say about the creature than that, but the poor boy's mortified mind could only process so many qualities at once. The flare burned out.

The creature did not moan scream or cry in agony. It snarled, seemingly unharmed by his powerful tool. It was then the Alk came to realize that, at best, the creature thought him an annoyance. Oh stars, did it mean to eat him? Revival or not, the thought made his stomach churn with sickness.

Amleth could only wonder with fear if the monster had been able to see his small, easily broken enem- food. His connection to the world around him was blocked out by his single-minded fear, leaving him oblivious to even the foul stench of death and the constant, ceaseless ticking of the crypt. But this wretched, laughable weakness ceased with little more time than it had taken to begin. The creature - of which of course Amleth could no longer see - had begun to thrash about, shattering any stone that it's crushing tail came into contact with. Hearing this, the Alk's senses finally returned to him, as he realized that an attack of some nature was immanent. No matter what the method, he was certain that if even a single attack slipped pass his defenses, he was dead. He had to escape. Now.

A few, hesitant steps backwards soon became a full on sprint as he turned his back. He ran, but not for long. A grand, devastating projectile had just been hurtled his way and due to the fog, had not been able to see. Proving to have more luck than even I would have anticipated, the statue flew over his head, landing a mere few feet in front of him before shattering into pieces upon finding it's way to the ground. The ground shook, knocking Amleth off his feet and causing him to drop his flaregun and the piece of ammunition he had been absent-mindedly carrying. In the same instant, a fragment of the now eradicated statue (the head) bounced off of the ground, hurtling itself towards him. Reacting swiftly enough to save his life, he rose his blast shield in protection, and in turn the rock was repelled back towards the devastated remains of it's body. Amleth was knocked over onto his back, but it was his composure that was broken, rather than his body. Nevertheless, he was sent into a (bloodless) coughing fit.

He had survived the initial attack, but that seemed little consolation at this point. His soul was overtaken with despair at what seemed to be certain defeat. But do not forget little ones, that I had provided the boy with proper incentive not to fail me.

"Amleth..."

The name had echoed in his head, and with it, his resolve returned. He would find a way to win.

Amleth began to calm his coughing. Knowing he had little time to spare, he brought himself to his knees, picking up his flaregun and it's shot before coming to stand again. Amleth had little idea what to expect of his enemy besides tremendous strength, so anticipating weaknesses and attacks seemed mostly impossible. Most important to determine though, was assuming it even existed, the means in which the beast could locate him. Did it rely on sight? Smell? Hearing? ...taste? Whatever the case, he had tools to mislead and damage the senses, which would surely prove to be a pivotal factor in the battle.

Amleth deposited his flaregun and it's ammunition back into his coat's holdings, before removing two fresh vials of his own blood. He figured that, perhaps, he would be able to fool the dragon with multiple and mostly similar scents. He thought it to be a gamble with fair odds against him, but win or lose, he had a reaction prepared. With this knowledge, he threw the first bottle at his feet, before turning right and throwing the second vial roughly twenty feet, where it then broke open upon a tombstone. He then ran around to behind the monument that had nearly ended him, taking a crouch to hide. Amleth reckoned that the dragon was more likely to mistake the positions of the fake and himself if he remained closer to the attack itself. While the other scent was probably a bit stronger, he thought that it's positioning made it look as if the statue had spilled his blood but left him alive, only to collapse twenty feet away after attempting to reposition himself.

The hiding Alk stilled himself, bringing his breathing to slow, quiet whispers.

[Auki]

Ruan prepared herself for retaliation, readying her stance for a fearsome reprisal of magic and fire. The world stood still for a breath - She could hear the statue slice through the air, hurtling towards the ground she did not expect it to reach. She was prepared for its demolition, could envisage it shattering into a thousand pieces by just one attack of her opponent. Stone fragments hurtling through the mist from the force, ricocheting off the ground with a terrifying velocity. That’s what she hoped for. Surely, there would be little point to the fight if he could not combat such a meagre projectile.

Her nose, so finely tuned to its surroundings, stayed locked on his scent, oblivious to the others that blanketed the dank graveyard. His was the only one of importance – so fresh, so … alive. It reminded her of the hunts in her youth. Launching her body through the chilled air, eyes gleaming in the searing sunlight. She could see her food as it scampered beneath, efforts so futile that both could foretell their outcome. She missed watching the face of her victims as they broke, so powerless in her grasp. They would scream as she toyed with them, pure terror and tears. She would witness their mindless whimpering with sadistic pleasure. It was always more satisfying to kill the strong, the arrogant; to watch as their faith of self was crushed as she pinned them down with a single claw.

Why? Why is he running?

His scent was retreating as the statue continued its launch. Did he have no shame?

It infuriated her that, after all the opponents she had faced, this was to be the finale - Not an epic tale of grandeur, but a mockery. Would it gain her acknowledgement? No. A dragon feasting upon human flesh was no accomplishment, just the course of nature. The entire tournament had turned out for nought. What was she to do?

Her claws fissured deep grooves in the soil, slashes of her frustration. Perhaps she should take up their offer of feast, relinquish it of fear for the sake of pity. Were that not what any merciful creature would conclude? To sever the neck in a bite and dine upon his corpse… It was not the kind of meal she was accustomed to.

Normally, it was electric – The sparks she felt as her tongue ran across their skin, peeling off the outer layer with its rough surface, savouring the salty sweat of trepidation. She would relish in the anticipation, the growing lust that threatened to overtake her body with just one thought to her bestial undertone. They always smelt best just before they died, coated in the acidic scent of sweat and urine that confirmed their utter abandonment of hope. It excited her, thrilled her to the core as she dominated her prey, bound them to the ground until they plead for release. Many resorted to prayer and she chuckled when their faith was so readily crushed. Lust mounted, desire that pounded through her body like a pulse, a necessity to survive. She could not see her victim but perhaps that was the best part – It allowed her to concentrate on her other senses. In particular, taste.

When she bit through their skin, they always screamed. She could feel their agony in the back of her mind, feeding her hunger with each spasm of anguish she inflicted. They would clamp their lips and grind their teeth, trying to fight through the pain, but it only took seconds until their shrieks refilled the air. The bones would creak and snap under the pressure, their abdomen caving under her powerful jaw – bone scraping past teeth was such a satisfying sound. Blood – sharp in taste – would fill her mouth, fuelling her greed instead of sating it. It flooded her tongue, cascading down her throat, but there was never enough. Flesh and organs were mashed between her teeth, a regale of bittersweet taste. More, she wanted, always more. Once their breath had left them, the frenzied elation soon died.

As her mind flashed through memories of past hunts, she grew fervid; eager.

The statue crashed against the ground and her hearing focused, waiting for his scream, a cry that told her he had suffered her ire and paid the price for his arrogance. There was none, just the sound of broken coughs followed by silence. She waited for a few moments but no noise ensued. What was she to make of such a feat? Disappointment flooded her mind upon instinct. Had the man shielded himself with magic from the attack? Had she somehow missed her target? Both were possible explanations considering her lack of knowledge about her opponent. Both made bitter her disillusion of success.

Confusion struck when she caught the metallic scent of his blood, spilt in the distance. The quantity was large enough that she pictured him to be heavily wounded. It teased at the savage creature residing inside her, attempting to lure it from its slumber, but she pushed such innate emotions back. She needed to keep a clear head.

Cocking her head to one side, her nostrils twitched as she continued to inhale the blood’s scent, perturbed by the situation. Her tongue flicked out, tasting the air, to confirm what she didn’t want to believe. It was genuine, that much she was sure, splattered across the graveyard generously. His wounds must be great to leave behind such gore but then… What kind of creature merely coughed after such mutilation? Did he even feel pain? It sent a flicker of nervousness through her mind – The first she had felt throughout the competition.

Standing there did not help her anxiety. She grew restless, shifting her feet, dishevelling the soil beneath them. Although caution was her priority, the still of the arena pressed against her skin and the blood called to her so sweetly. She needed to investigate, to relieve herself of ignorance. She told herself a battle could not be won by caution alone.

The first step was the most hesitant as she fought to break free from anxiety’s hold. It chained her to the ground, snared her feet, and sung to her of safety. She gritted her teeth and ignored it’s siren lullaby, her pace unsteady but persistent. The ticking of the arena seemed to grow more frantic as she drew closer, matching the heartbeat that drummed against her throat. Her head resented the noise, tortured by its never-ending rhythm, a dull ache already forming in the back of her mind.

It was at that time that she reached the site of her opponent’s blood and tentatively lowered her head to inspect it. Although she couldn’t see, she could not feel the presence of his corpse nearby and she knew better than to doubt such instincts. A low, guttural growl rose in her throat and within a moment, she withdrew her snout sharply. She was confused, lost, and such feelings had put her into a state of fear. Whatever was happening, she was dedicated to tearing her foe apart, limb by limb, for making her feel this way.

[DreamLand]

Amleth was well versed in the art of subtlety and stealth, so when it came time to render his presence as unnoticeable as possible, the Alk proved to do so with little difficulty. The statue that had been thrown at him was rather large, with the particular fragment that he hid behind (the base) standing at four feet tall on it's side, which, provided he kept low enough, was cover enough for both him and his large shield. Of course, such cover would prove pointless had he been unable to control his own body's impulses. Amleth brought his breathing to an inhale and exhale that were equal in their silence.

As the world around him came to a momentary halt, Amleth had expected to meet a brief moment of calm. Instead, he was greeted with a vaguely familiar sound.

Tick. Tock.

But he did not. It was only then, when he had been granted a moment of rest was he able to hear that most unsettling noise in the background. How long had these sounds been echoing throughout the arena? More importantly, for what purpose was such noise made? The boy knew better than to write it off as little more than a gimmick, but he was also aware that a more pressing issue was at hand. After all, the monotonous beating of the arena's heart was being drowned out by a far more commanding presence.

Stomp. Stomp.

The beast, oni or whatever else it may have been was now on the steady approach. With each step came a tremor so great that Amleth fancied one of it's steps was likely equal to about ten of his. Rather than bother question why such a strange creature was ever allowed in a tournament of Alkloids, the hiding one felt it better to formulate the next step to whatever plan his mind was still trying to work together.

A head on attack, as shown by the flare, seemed rather pointless. A compressed dynamite blast would of course have proven far more powerful, but getting close enough to execute such an attack seemed foolish, to say the least. Had the creature an obvious weak point of some sort? The underbelly? From behind? The eyes? At this point, it was impossible to really say for sure. He needed to better inspect this strange organism first, but the combined issues of fog and and massive foe would make such a seemingly simple feat far more difficult than normal. He needed to render the creature blind if he was to have any chance to find a chink in the seemingly impenetrable armor, but by which means was he do go about in doing that?

As the creature had yet to find him, it seemed fair to assume that it's main method of locating prey was not sight, or at the least, both of the combatants' sights were limited by fog. That left scent and hearing. He had means to disable both, albeit not in the same instant. As impending doom drew closer and closer, Amleth decided to first bother with scent, the sense he reckoned his equipment could better disable. A toxic smokebomb would do nicely, for it also had the possibility of further disabling whatever sight the creature still had.

In the time it took for him to draw and ready a smokebomb, the creature had come to stand but a few feet away. Amleth's nerves were shaken by it's proximity alone, but that is not the reason why he gave hesitation at that moment. Rather, he knew that should he have given away his presence at that moment, the creature's gaping maw could have easily snatched him, cloud of smoke or not. It was for that same reason that he resisted the urge to run; better to take the possibility he would die hiding like a coward than the certainty he would meet the stars in running like one.

The mere seconds of tension felt like hours, and the relief felt when the creature relented was one of the most satisfying feelings Amleth had ever felt. His gamble had paid off, and the pay-off was about to be reaped.

With hands that faintly trembled, the Alk withdrew a smoke bomb into his right hand. Then, with all the swiftness of jungle cat, Amleth sprung from his position, a glowing spark already attached to the short fuse of his poisonous weapon. Acting so quickly that he almost lost the handle of it, the bomb soared from his hand, allowing it's emissions to begin in mid-air. It sailed straight toward the creature's face, though given the size of such a surface, it was a task accomplished easily, even in a panic.

His next action was performed with all swiftness. Amleth made a short run towards a cluster of haphazardly placed stones ten feet to his south, with hope that he could afford himself some sort of further protection while he attempted to examine his - hopefully - weakened opponent. Aware that perhaps smoke alone would not be enough to totally stun it, the talented tactician was already reaching for the loudest tool he had.

[Auki]

There were a few seconds of still amidst the battle.

Her trembling pants warped the mist, her muscles quivering in nervous anticipation. She did not try to calm her anxiety. It kept her alive and fighting through the tiredness that crept up on her in every battle. It had not yet grown so great that she need pay it attention but it nagged at the back of her mind, warning her that soon, exhaustion would settle in. This man – magician or not – seemed to be reading her thoughts and she knew that the longer the battle persisted, the less chance she had to win. Hesitation was not getting her anywhere.

Her anger festered beneath her fear, that lust for flesh still raging in her stomach, unsated. Perhaps it was time to finish the hunt and start the attack.

As sensitive to her surroundings as she was, she caught the foul odour of the bomb whilst it headed towards her. She was curious of its purpose. A mere explosive, similar to the previous, would not do much damage from the direction he had thrown. An annoyance perhaps or a distraction at best. She doubted it would carry such an unpleasant scent as well. It did not have time to reach her face before it exploded and she braced herself.

Without being able to see, she found it impossible to guess his intention at first. It was only upon inhalation that she realised the danger she was in. The air, dank and cool, had become heavier with some other element. The stench of it curdled her stomach, causing waves of nausea to flood her senses, but there was something more pressing than that. Its very presence burnt her insides. She stopped her breathing within seconds and clamped her mouth closed but her nostrils already felt seared. Her throat seemed to constrict in misguided retaliation, a strangled discomfort settling around her neck.

Feral behaviour came naturally as her body calculated her best chance of survival. She could no longer use her nose to breathe, limiting but not abolishing her sense of smell – Instead, she would need to rely upon her tongue to track her opponent’s scent. Her main concern lay within his attacks and her situation. Even with her infrared vision, she had no way to gauge the gas’s volume or direction. His projectiles were also becoming more than just an annoyance, targeting her weaknesses directly. It had been just a few minutes into the battle and he seemed to already know of her handicap. How, she would probably never find out.

She would rip his head from his neck before she had the chance to ask.

Defence and offence came hand-in-hand as she moved quickly, not giving him the chance to spark another of his explosives. Even if he had already – for she had yet to work out his speed of movement – it would be in vain.

Leathery wings unfolded, stretching to their utmost length, raised above the ground as far she could with her dwindling supply of energy. Her lungs burned to breathe and so she wasted no time. They came crashing down, gales of mist and gas billowing beneath them, a tempest building as she relentlessly pounded the air with her wings, dispersing the poisonous gas that surrounded her and preventing any projectile he might be throwing towards her from aiming true. The thin and battered membranes of her once-magnificent wings strained to their maximum capacity with each defiant strike of the air and for once, she felt alive. If her fury were to reach her opponent and do him pain, it would do only to intensify the felicity of the moment.

[DreamLand]

Upon reaching the stones he meant to take cover behind, Amleth withdrew from his coat a single stick of dynamite. He held the bomb fairmly in his hand and crouched behind a tombstone, hopeful that his sneaky tactic had proved successful. After a moment of little considerable reaction, the beast began to fold in visible pain, signalling Amleth to proceed as planned. Aware that the explosive had a long fuse, he ignited the dynamite before he could actually make sense of a vantage point. As far as he was concerned, a readied explosive would allow a response with all the haste necessary to meet the pace of something so large.

An (accidental) frontal assault had yielded no result, but as his most recent attack had concluded, the creature's face was something of a soft spot. Despite the weakness, attacking the face was still not ideal. Correctly estimating the fuse length required to detonate a dynamite stick mid-air against a dangerous, constantly moving target was no easy task, especially considering that if this creature had any semblance of intelligence, it would likely wise up against such an approach.

As the creature reeled in pain, Amleth was able to see more of the creature besides its' front. Its' underbelly was afforded with much the same protection as its' front, though its' sides were visibly less guarded. The dragon had wings which, large as they may have been, were still tattered and seemingly incapable of flight. The Alk foolishly assumed they would be of little merit in this fight.

The dragon then, very briefly, displayed its' backside. Immediately, Amleth came to recognize his opportunity. It's back, while still scaled like much of the rest of the body, was noticeably less secure. While a rear assault was still not a guaranteed success, it seemed the best of his limited options. Of course, there was one obstacle to an attack from behind. The tail. More of a massive club than as a means to maintain balance, that weapon of massive, nimble destruction would make simply sneaking up from the rear unfeasible. A good throw seemed logical then, but timing would be an issue. Still, the alternatives were only for the desperate and depraved, so such simple measures would have to do.

The lit explosive was down to its' last quarter of a fuse. Although he had the option to kill the fuse and try again, Amleth refrained from doing so, aware that he would likely not be presented with another chance as kind as the one his first smoke bomb had bought him. As The Alk raised his arm, the dragon unfolded its' wings, whether it be in retaliation or as a response to pain he did not know. Eager to act first, Amleth threw his dynamite stick at the foe with little care for aim, before turning his back with intent to create further distance between them. In turn, the creature revealed its' intent, by flapping its' wings with such force that the stick's spark was extinguished, and it's owner sent flying.

With little more than an exasperated look on his face, Amleth flew several feet in the air, on an upward angle. Having had the good fortune of flight with his shield in front of him, the boy was provided with an opportunity to raise his shield in protection. The boy flew over a mausoleum and collided with a tall, adjacent statue. As that tower shield of his repels far more force than it absorbs, the force behind those flapping wings was enough to ricochet him backwards, shattering the statue in the process, and propelling him onto the mausoleum, backwards. His back collided with the slanted roof, before he bounced once more, onto the other half of the slanted roof, and his stomach.

Amleth writhed in pain. As had happened so many times now in these fights, his back was injured. For a brief moment, Amleth could not feel his arms or legs. Control of his body was restored momentarily, but there was still good reason for him to be in pain. It seemed likely that a rib or two had been fractured, as was likely the case with his pelvis. The blood in his lungs erupted and now he found himself struggling to turn back over onto his back so that he would not drown in his own crimson sea. With each cough more blood flowed, and although he could not see it, there was internal bleeding in his abdomen. The will was strong, but the flesh weak. Amleth's pain and inability to gain a control of his coughing pushed the fight into a nearly hopeless scenario.

Although his wits were racked beyond the strength of most Alks, he still possessed enough sense to take the only form of pain relief he had. Hardly able to control his arms, Amleth withdrew a tool he usually reserved for enemies: his flower bouquet. The once beautiful, yellow flowers were now tarnished, but their effects no less potent. The bruised and beaten one smothered his face with the flowers, submerging himself in the same blood that he continued to cough. Within mere moments, the fact acting opiate took hold. The pain, while still excruciating, was no longer crippling. As he had difficulty inhaling, the opiate was not able to take full hold of him, leaving him with his (dampened) consciousness. He rose to a knee.

The combination of blood loss and drug would have rendered most other men asleep, but my Amleth was well-versed in both pain and toxins of all varieties. As the drug worked its' way through his blood stream, all of the Alk's senses were dulled, as was his mind. That's not to say he lost total sense of his surroundings or the urgency of an approaching behemoth, but all the same, he lost some sensibility that he may have been better off keeping. He was scared, yet now held a vague sense of confidence. He was to attempt an outrageous measure, something I had never seen in a man with a rational mind as his.

Amleth took his warpick into his right hand, and readied his shield in the left. Better grounded than before, he had not intention of being made a rag doll of once more. He welcomed the dragon's tooth and nail.