There wasn’t much ti for idle chit-chat as the sanity-deprived adventurer was back to his feet with a vengeance. Joyful laughter haunted the cavern, as the renowned outlaw flipped his sword in a dancing manner.
While Redrum stood in front of him, ready to shield the archer, Otto breathed in curiously, finding the air sohow clearer in the dusty, isolated cave. He put his hand on his chest, feeling his chest take in more oxygen.
’I felt it, right before he was about to split in half...The wind changed. Could it be that...? No, I lost it, didn’t I? The Favor of Sylph...’ Otto questioned.
The cursed adventurer set one stride forward, igniting in a passionate march straight towards the elf. Like a ravenous beast, Thros erupted with his blade in tow—
"Hrgh!" Redrum gritted his teeth, placing himself in the mad one’s path.
"Outta the way, at!" Thros shouted, swiping his blade.
With both forearms crossed, the orc intercepted the massive slab of steel. It befell the muscular arms with nothing less than the force to shred the trunk of a tree, yet it failed to cleave through the inhuman’s flesh.
"Nnrgh!" Redrum gritted.
Thros let out a surprised laugh, "Now, that’s a first!"
The mont the archer drew his arrow with the intent of aiding his companion, it was like the sanity-lost adventurer slled blood in the air. With a swift kick delivered to the orc’s ribs, the berserker knocked the defender away, rushing right for the elf.
He steadied his breathing, fixing his aim, but there was only a fraction of a second to work with as the man crossed the distance swiftly. The arrow was released in a panic–it made its way towards the berserker, missing his fra entirely as it glided right past the lunatic’s shoulder.
"I sll a coward! You’re afraid, aren’t you, boy?!" Thros yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls of the tucked-away cave.
The provocation was backed by the putrid breath of the cave-dwelling vagrant, who arrived within reach in the matter of a heartbeat. His fingers twitched with the idea of reaching back for an arrow, though he instinctively knew there wouldn’t be an opportunity.
’He’s here?!’ Otto realized.
With pure faith in his reflexes, he ducked down, leaving the heavy blade to carve chunks out of the rocks behind him. Every hair on the back of his neck stood, finding himself still with a head attached to his shoulders.
From the position he was left in, his nose was inches from the berserker’s bare abdon. With a mind processing the idea of death with every mont, the feral part of his brain urged him to do the only thing he could at that mont–
He opened his mouth before clamping his teeth down on the stomach in front of him. It felt like biting into rigid stone, more inclined to shatter his jaw than take a chunk out. All the animalistic retaliation did was grant him an elbow to the top of his head.
"Ghk...!"
Down his spine, it felt like a bolt of lightning jolted his entire nervous system, leaving him gasping without any control of his body. As his balance faltered, with his blurred vision, he saw the grin plastered on the one he once looked up to, utterly forsaken of heroism.
"Sleep, little elf."
At the sa ti, a tranquil whisper carried into his ear, a trace of kind wind—"Carry along the Pri Wind, to forevermore."
All at once, his body moved as if the air around him was malleable ground. Coming from inches from landing on his face, he seamlessly slid upward. With a quick return motion, he flicked a burst of condensed, sharp wind at the lunatic’s chest–THWOOM.
"Oh?--" Thros reacted, stumbling back with a blink of confusion.
The tough thick hide that was the chest of the eroded warrior bled, left lacerated by the sharpened wind.
Otto caught his footing, letting his feet glide over the ground, having no bearing for the concept of "footing." Even letting himself fall backwards, the wind kept him upright.
"You’re finally back," Otto remarked with a delighted smile, caressing the air at his hands.
From the left side of the chain-filled cavern, the orc looked on, impressed as he managed to pick himself up. In the sack attached to the giant’s hip, a drum of at was pulled out, having a grand bite taken out—
"Nnm!" Redrum swallowed.
Just as the sustenance was consud, the wounds across the orc’s body repaired as if the handwork of invisible doctors. Though as the mont stood, the four-ard defender found himself not yet returning to the fray, only observing.
There was a shimr embedded in the erald eyes of the elf; a light of favor, possessing an entirely new outlook. The warped smile once plastered on Thros’ lips settled into a focused look, taut with experience carved into the unfading body of his.
"...Of stone, my flesh is made. Atop this soil, I defend..."
Departed from the madness, words of concentration invoked from the lost criminal’s lips as he assud a readied stance with his sword.
With his keen vision, the elf noticed it, even in the dim environnt; the man’s body changed, if ever so slightly; like rigid bricks put together, his skin took on an altered complexion.
’A self-enhancent spell? In his ntal state, I didn’t think using magic was possible. It’s as if...maybe being threatened, he’s mimicking those mories. There’s sothing left,’ Otto observed.
Like a sixth sense, the vibrations in the air, down to the most subtle fluctuations, were felt. It was around Thros’ body that he felt the wind ripple, like a sea shaken by a leviathan beneath the waves.
Approximately six ters stood between them, leaving no room for a misstep—
He raised his bow, prompting the now quiet madman to initiate his approach. With a single step that shook the underground, the warrior crossed five ters.
In that sa span where ti had hardly crawled half a second, the bow was raised and the string drawn, though no arrow set.
["It needs no shape, only an intention...a goal; without burden, it is ever-moving–that is the wind."]
As the tip of his index finger flicked off the string, it released the nothingness it held back. Yet, with its firing, a condensed wind shot forth. It had no form, yet it presented unrelenting sharpness, carving across the gravel floor before striking into the center of the warrior’s chest.
Sound lashed out, being so harshly penetrated, crackling like thunder as the recipient of the arrow of wind was sent across the domain of gri and rock.
["Among all creatures that walk upon this world, each is able to beco "favored" by entities transcendent from the mortal plane. However, even the most ager blessing from the lowest of bestowers is a one-in-a-thousand occurrence.
To earn not just the favor, but the genuine love of one of the Great Spirits, you must be one in a million."]
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