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252 - Vaceran
🕑 Added 2022-02-01 19:19:23 +0000 UTCCloser and closer, she saw the stream - running through a deep gash in the earth, itself just barely not quite a river, and a tree at the other side had been knocked over to form a makeshift bridge, with a good chunk of its upper half having been… Not quite cut off, as much as smashed off, like someone had used a steel baton or a dull axe to batter the hardwood apart.
Entering the barn through its half-rotted doors, she came upon a makeshift gymnasium within - though calling it a “gymnasium” was perhaps a bit generous, seeing as it was a few log dummies and makeshift weights. Several of the dummies were savagely damaged, cracked and missing chunks, more akin to having been hit with a baton of stone than a fist. But then, that checked out with the recorded strength of Vaceran’s kicks - strength that she figured she would soon learned for herself, considering the constant, rising feeling of impending danger, one which she responded to by using it as an opportunity. In drawing from the Core of Earthly Iron, she filled her Essentia Gut with a small amount of Metallum and a much greater quantity of Aether, meticulously blending and mixing it.
The second thing she had noticed when she entered were the second-floor hay bale alcoves at either end of the barn, and her mind mind immediately went to the possibility of Vaceran hiding in the alcove on the side where she had entered - indeed, listening for noise from that direction had confirmed her suspicion, as she heard the old board creaking beneath his weight as he moved. Thanks to this, she knew he would likely attack her from behind, and on instinct alone she decided to direct that Aether-Metallum payload towards her upper back, remembering that he had used a flying kick to down his opponent in the sparring test. Through the underlying principles of Thundercharger she was able to keep the undeveloped hardening technique “chambered” without activating it for a short while, only burning the energetic mixture to induce hardening when she was certain the armless man’s shin was a moment from impact.
Why he would try to attack her hadn’t even crossed her mind - she felt his stone-hard shin slam into her back, metal-esque vibrations reverberated through her back, gently dispersing the immense impact force as she whipped around and grabbed for his leg, outright swinging him overhead and onto the ground. Well-built though he was, the distinct absence of arms made Vaceran much lighter.
His amber-coloured eyes stared up at her from the ground as her armored bootheel dug into his stomach while she held onto his legs to keep him from moving. His bare upper half was scarred, the stumps of his arms turned to stone. What she had first thought to be a weird shaved-out line on his head turned out to actually be a strip of hairless, petrified flesh.
“I understand you wish to join my sect, but you should at least ask if you wish to spar,” she smugged down at him.
A brief chuckle escaped him and a small, momentary smile upturned the corner of his mouth, before he remarked, “I wished to see for myself it was true. That you have eyes in the back of your head - that you’re good enough to see an invisible assassin coming.”
Herself chuckling in turn, she let him go, at which point he leapt back to his feet with uncanny agility. Looking her up and down, he furrowed his brow, “...I do not recall hearing anything about you being able to just turn your skin into steel.”
“That one’s new, I admit,” she conceded, looking around the barn. “So what’s your deal? I can tell you’re dedicated if you’ve gone so far as to do all this rather than use a public gymnasium, but why? Is it just the no arms thing? I don’t think any sane civvie would think to screw with an armless man that kicks hard enough to chop down an oak.”
“It’s not that. I just like it better here, don’t like random people milling around looking at me. They usually don’t mean it badly, but it screws with me constantly feeling their eyes on my back,” he explained, angst so thick seeping from his voice that Zel could visualize its vaguely gooey consistency dripping down his chest, pooling at his feet in a pallid, runny puddle.
Crossing her arms with a sigh, she leaned up against a supporting beam, “Alright, why’d you want to join?”
His face hardened, and the angst was turned to seething vapor by bubbling anger rising inside the man, so obvious she couldn’t avoid noticing it even if she had tried. For a few seconds he stared up at her, before awkwardly turning around and walking across the barn as he began to explain: “My family was killed by a Pateirian nobleman taking out his frustrations under the pretense of our “consorting with subversive elements”, and when I questioned his judgment, he severed my arms and chopped into my skull, though I was rescued in time. His magicked blade petrified whatever it cut, and so I was left unable to have conventional prosthetics fitted. I’ve spent the last six years traveling in search of a way to exact my revenge, and I still hold out hope that he’s somewhere out there so that I might visit a fate worse than death upon him.”
“Classic tragic backstory, understood,” a thought sparked through her head, though she hadn’t consumed any great deal of fiction involving such rough histories for their characters - she figured it was yet another fragmentary memory from one of her progenitors.
“And joining my sect contributes towards that goal, how, exactly? Is it just power? Because that’s a perfectly valid answer.” Zel questioned.
“I figure if I kill enough bugmen, eventually I’ll find the right one, or failing that, enact sufficient vengeance upon the perpetrator’s like,” he shrugged.
“And how’ll you know which ones are deserving, or when it’s been enough?” she asked.
