rrin drowned in the silence—tense, stiffen, dangerously aware of the energy that lorded now over this space. Like a worm, it slithered into their minds, beckoning the need for violence. To enjoy it. Oh, how they cheered him on. The stadium quaking with the collective roars for pandemonium.
Madness.
What glorious madness…
rrin chuckled, cupping his mouth against the escaping laughter. I'm being infected too, aren't I? There was precedence for it, he knew. The shamans once recounted how easily humans were influenced by external energies—this was a thing restricted for true mastery of the dance. rrin could, but chose not to.
Perhaps this would prove to Auwale that he, too, was a hunter. Mist the consequences and inhibition.
This must be done.
Head reared, noting the solemn gaze piercing towards him. Hard. Auwale watched from the special square chamber, his gaze so obvious it seed banal. Go on, do that. That was the expression. Join them. Show how you hunt!
Not virtuous at all.
Auwale isn't Auwale; he repeated the created litany against impression formation. Keep an open mind. Drive away the mind killer that cos in form of an impression. Dangerous. A solid enough belief acted more as a bastion for further knowledge. A limiting error for a caster.
He stood, managed a breath. Bootless.
So this is what I do now? Discovered then, the creature of aningless convictions he had beco. How many tis those words had been repeated: 'I will never kill again' and yet, repeatedly, the external actions beca the culling tool. Almost a parody to observe. The utter definition of madness. The repetition of it all.
Hypocrisy existed in its iteration.
He sighed. And still I play the specious role. I will kill again…It is necessary. That bright one had killed another—should I consider this as revenge?
Ah, that pit of entropy: What link justified the concept of avengent? There was, of course, rrin thought, but for these ones, no connection existed. Hence, in the end, what this was is pure murder.
Again…I take another life.
I do this for you. He leaped out from the tier, spinning, arching, marshaling the ever-violent wind, listening calmly to its joyous howling. A boom, and dust clouds from the earth, his shadow stretching from the bleached grounds. nacing, surely. One wondered when fear beca such a necessity in his battles. Always, perhaps.
Clarity returned, and rrin Ashman, sunBringer and El'shadie of the Current era, stood with his knife in hand, ready to cull yet another soul.
"Let the Hunt begin!" Auwale roared.
"I'm sorry," rrin said and vanished. A mont, and he stood before the Bright one, knife in hand, piercing forward. The terror that elicited in the young warrior—yes, young; the softer features echoed that span. But that mattered little in combat. Fear—swiftness, the motion of confusion and control. That was a battle. And now…rrin learned too.
He twirled, slicing to the side, eting the weapon surely fashioned from stone, yet clanging like loud tal. Casted, too. Everything here was casted—a surprisingly annoying realization.
Nothing natural.
The dance heightened the senses; no aweso power permitted for the duration of the battle. A soul was to end today; allow it the dignity of a true battle. Man vs man—or sothing closer. rrin side-stepped, the sword cutting down the vacated spot. The ringing of tal. rrin rounded him, deliberate, and discovered a weakness on the side. This bright one, he noticed—learning. Fought with an unusual dependence on the right leg. A singular source of focused strength. Good for the wielder of such a weapon.
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A mistake against one with the shorter blade.
There was a nimbleness acquired from the smaller weapon. rrin exploited that advantage, fell into the trance of motions, fading the external clamour into re suggestions, beckoning attention. He could give or not. Not was the chosen.
And this he saw, angered the Bright one, inducing wild shoutings, screaming, and tuanting of various degrees. Show anything, any source of emotion to learn from. Ah, the pit of a warrior. Indeed, a battle was more of a shared conversation than a singular act. The twitchings, breathings—those spoke louder words.
rrin, however, had long mastered the silence of such. Ashman had lorded the quietude.
You will gain nothing from .
rrin parried a strike. But I will learn everything from you!
The dance rose into an approaching climax, pace surging with a thrilling charge. Move move move. rrin twirled the blade, piercing forward, tal banging against the face of the sword. He dropped the knife, the bright one halting in brief astonishnt. Is he surrendering?
No!
The mont before the knife kissed the floor, rrin grabbed it with his left hand, slicing hard at the ankles. A scream roared out. No blood, just spewing whiffs of light. Again, this reminded him of the non-humanity that stood before him.
Does that change the fact?
Retaliation was swift, faster than before—the sword cleaving into the shoulders. Stinging. rrin rolled back, blood dripping, splattering over the earth. Not steaming. For once, the cooled state of blood was seen. Oddly fluid.
Distractive!
The bright one closed in, vociferating, blade swinging from the side. Obvious. rrin bent. A mistake. A kick slamd into his stomach. Thought-shattering. Ah, that brought the cacophony of pain. Both soul-based and physical. He scread, a hand cupping his lips before the vocalization; the bright one, sneering down. Like a statue of solid white, how godly he seed.
"You think you are so special thing, don't you?" A rather bootless question.
On technicality alone, rrin was a unique creature. But often, the articulation of one's worth was viewed as so object of internal pride. Wrong. The need for correction administration was disparate from the repletion. But what did that matter?
Pain was what he knew now.
It appeared the learning art was not easily absorbed. Hubris. Was that the guiding force of this error? Or a re innocence of the Naivete mind?
Again, what did that matter?
rrin was seeing hues--flashes of contrasts across vision. Each ti, created by the hilt of the blade smashed into his face. This brought an impression of old mories. He and Davos!
Was this what the blademaster saw whilst being forced to confess? Would I confess also during such circumstances?
Observably, the ultimate teacher of pain was the experience of that pain...
I know pain.
tal drilled into his thigh, a loud mockery accompanied. "Co on, what can you even do!"
I think we both share the hubris...He thought, found the laughable reality that imposed itself on the mont. Unaware, of course, the bright one saw himself as the ultimate winner. The stronger creature. One would do well not to bla him for that ignorance.
All it would take was a gust of wind--and he dies. There was seduction to do just that, a need to wipe the grin off the luminous face...But this is my punishnt!
rrin had arrived at that conclusion not from ntal data, but emotional forces. Guilt, perhaps. Most likely. Here he was, ready to deprive one of their life--how the tables have turned. Well no.
The tables remained the sa. The sole difference being the awareness of those who sat on it. A thing about observation. An example echoed from the actions of the bright one: He saw himself as the head chair--a fragile way of thought.
One never considered the outco of a battle until the end.
That was the basic courtesy of a hunter. Until the creature remained firmly in your trap, dead, never accept yourself as the winner.
Impressions were the pit of knowledge acquisition. The bright one delivered a slap--mories, recollections of Davos' confession.
He heard then the roaring of the stadium. So now, they roar. Perhaps it was always a matter of target, never so hidden elegance. They were, in the end, creatures of habit, more so than humans. And when influenced by their creator--Auwale, the currentness only elicited the need for a roar.
And that they did, quite fervently in fact.
"This was the one that challenged our Lord at the gates."
So they heard of that?
"He thinks himself better than us."
Again with the observables.
"Look at how weak a re human is."
That is, I suppose, an addition from Auwale himself.
rrin was learning. He saw this with the new, growing awareness. Auwale had indeed carved these creatures--his force, the soulForce, had bathed them into existence. This proposed a question: Without the mind force, were they sentient enough to be considered living, or were the displayed actions rely a collection of do's and don'ts?
A decided pattern from their creator?
Questions within questions. The mind feintly dulled by the growing pain...More stabings.
Have I learned enough?
“After you.” Said the bright one, “I will exercise my right again. This ti. I will go for the stone.”
Yes!
rrin compelled the wind--senses alone told of the completion. More familiarity negated the need for observed casting.
He heard the panic in the bright one...More patterns?
This I do for them...
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