Defensive Manifestation II

He was going through Wychwood, burning down lessers with his fire magic. For now, he was just killing things to blow off the steam that he had. He just wanted Maloth as a teacher, and he was shrugged off like nothing! He even strained his body just for a little show of impressiveness which, even then, gained him nothing in the cyclop's eyes. Err, eye.

He was about to keep burning, when he almost sent a fireball launching at another person. He just barely moved his hand out of the way of it. "Who are you...?" He was surrounded by flames as he said this.
(Ilumi)

 A short-lived encounter in the desert proved to be nothing more than a mirage. A mirage to him, that would be shrugged off in the wander that would eventually give way to an oasis. An oasis, that transformed into a full fledged forest, surrounding an Imperfect's domain like a walling sheild, filled with several ruling schools of magi, and even more Yokai skulking about.

In time, his trek would lead him into Wychwood, where the pace would slow down to advance through the brush... When suddenly!
The ball of fire whizzed by his head, leaving him with incentive to halt in place. A slow pivot shifted for the magi in question, one whom launched the blast with the assumption of the worst. An attack? Whatever the case, a quick "Who are you...?" left the Malpercian wondering of the domain he stepped within.

Was he trespassing? Was this one of Kokb'eal's loyal subjects protecting his newfound domain?...Or was it merely a bandit. The flames that hugged close to the magi didn't help the scenario either, leaving Vriskol to come to a sole conclusion...
Battle was inevitible...
"Challenge... Accepted."
Those were the first, and only words that came out in response, prior to his kick off for the young boy. It didn't matter if he had more to say on the subject, only that one stood, and another fell by the end of this conflict to unfold!
His oversized right arm extended for the facial region, leaving one to witness the abominiable pink flesh that swelled down to the elbow region.

Flayed bone material protruded from the skin, akin to a rose's stem, with the swollen and sharpened fingers, evolving into talons- As the rose itself.
As he closed in, one could come to note a distinguishable eggplant-grape glow illuminating his outline with a quiet intensity.
The pungent radiation of occultism from his person grew noticible as he encroached personal boundaries of space, fingers clutching ever so slightly to attempt feeling out the face prior to even landing, a clutch in progress, should the magi fail to evade.

Not to mention, the strong sickening feeling the boy gave off....
Depravity was strong in this one...
(Vriskol Malpercius)

Challenge accepted..? What was that supposed to mea. It only left Ilumi wondering what was going to happen next, and soon his question would be answered. In a matter of seconds, Vriskol started transforming, and morphing hideously, Ilumi had never seen anything like it, nor did he know any magic of the sort existed!

Maybe the fireball that he'd launch on accident wasn't the best idea in the world. He was now starting to feel fear, an emotion long lost, what was standing before him wasn't human anymore, this was a demon of some sort, and he could feel the waves of depravity hitting him. He almost wanted to run off to Frostvale!

Almost.
(Ilumi)

Perhaps things were misunderstood... To some extent, he could be seen as a monster for his arm, but in the end... It was just his arm. A freakishly mutated arm, having undergone evolution down his lineage, it was brought to light with Occultism's presence, Depravity, Time... And his bloodline.

The distance closed in little to no time, however, did not last!
A Yokai itself between himself and Ilumi, lashing out for a free strike upon Vriskol. The consequence, was the clutching of the Malpercian hand upon his face, bearing excessive force upon it's skull to lock contact.
The creature squirmed, sending it's oversized claws for the magi's unarmored body and face!

However... The slashes rubbed off the skin, hardly manipulating the flesh itself in the process. The thick shell of manifested occultism left him untouched, showing only by the glow on his person. The expression on his face remained indifferent; A stern solemn expression that proved absolutely emotionless and heartless in appearance.

From the crevices of his clutching contact, a glow as true as sanguine blood glimmered; The only evidence of the raw vitality and mana siphoned from the Yokai in progress. It's body contorted, shriveling around the bone, and in time... Left it a mere skeleton, adorn with leathered skin for clothing...

Once held in Vriskol's deathgrip, and stretched up above his person, he allowed it to fall- Lifeless at his feet.
To think that if it was Ilumi in it's place, he'd share it's fate... However, now that it was just him and Vriskol, one could come to wonder.
The Malpercian's lavender eyes shifted over to that of the young boy with the same will behind his last kill.

"...And now, for you..."
(Vriskol Malpercius)

He watched as the Yokai was shrivelling up at the touch of Vriskol, terrifying Ilumi even more. He was a mean kid himself, but this was something that was out of his reach, not even his edge could touch it! The fire around him was slowly wavering, and faultering, as if he wasn't ready for an interaction like this.

They then returned, stronger than before, and his staff was planted into the ground, firmly by one hand. Rocks started to tremble as well, if he had control over fire and earth, would he be the next magma magi? No matter, he had an opponent before him, and he was going to be beaten, he felt like it was going to be another Maloth situation, him doing something, and then punished for it.

He started to point his staff at Vriskol, as a sort of warning, 'If you get any closer, I'll hurt you!' It was an empty, unsaid threat though.
(Ilumi)

 Fireballs were hurled for the magi, smashing into his chest to no avail! Their contact brought illumination to his form, but otherwise did nothing more. The shell seemed impervious to Ilumi's attempts to shatter it, and thus, only gave reason for Vriskol to slow down in his sprint. Now, he closed in with a slow, threatening walk for his victim.

Boulders and Earth bullets hurled for his physique, only to explode into violent expansions of dust, engulfing him entirely to leave ambiguity in his ability to uphold. Yet, such would never last, for the shifting silhuette would phase through the generated fog, revealing his approach was unhindered.

"Suddenly, I lack the sense of urgency. Your lack of potency leaves me... Growing tiresome of this scenario."

Step by step, he got closer; "What was that you said earlier?... You'd hurt me?" He turned over to his left side to note Ilumi closing in rapidly, unleashing a flamethrower upon his person. The firestream came in, swallowing him whole, and leaving him but a smudge in it's wake.

Of course, just as the previous attempts had proven- This was no different.
As the flames subsided, Vriskol would be standing there, point-blank with arms crossed, remaining unappeased.
"Pathetic, perhaps you could endulge me for your insolence."
He swatted his left arm outward for the child, unleashing a blast of occultistic energy- Backed up with the potency to force him spiraling to some degree, only to leave his arm to drop at his side.

There, he stood, awaiting for the child to make a rebound.... Or run.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

He thought his magics would do him well, but he was terribly wrong. All of his attempts to burn or smash him with rocks did nothing to this person, he was truly something to be feared. He was scared his life would end like the Yokai that was drained to leather and bones.

He was launched to the side from a blast of darkness, momentarily knocking him out in the air, regaining consciousness as he slid across the ground. He vision was blurry, and he knew he was in the middle of a fight. He got to his hands and knees, and saw blood was on the ground where he'd landed. He felt for his nose, knowing that he'd put strain on himself and was bleeding.

He started looking around for his staff, which was around five feet away from him. He started to slowly crawl towards it, as if preparing for another fight with the man. Ilumi wasn't exactly the brightest.

But he was determined.
(Ilumi)

The small explosions casted from rock and flames left Vriskol in a brawl of clouds and scattering debris, yet he kept coming. This manifested shell of occultistic sheilding didn't seem to wear, and in time- He was before Ilumi, lavender pupils glimmering with a hint of malignant maroon.
"You should've run. I'm not one fond of being attacked, kid."

The mutated right arm reached out for Ilumi' cuffing tightly over his mouth and slowly... Giving rise to the rest of his body. No longer would one be able to give in to flight, at such a pivoting moment of the scuffle. Vriskol had won.
The process was now underway, taking it's official turn for the worse as the crimson glow took it's form beneath his fingers.

The very essence would sap from the boy's form, in the form of stamina at first. It was breathtaking- Literally. The arm seemed to shift abit in form to a degree, the bones protruding just by a centimeter more from the skin itself. The mutation was speeding up, and thus meaning that in time, Sacrifice would have it's due.
Images of common and daily acts in life began to flash through Ilumi's consciousness, siphoned away to become a part of Vriskol's own.

Vitality and mana left his form, adjoined to the Malpercian's circuit leaving the boy to grow weak as the process continued.... Screams or shouts would be reduced to muffles

As of now, it'd only be a matter of time before the lifeforce of the child would be rendered absolutely absent. The Malpercian curse was taking it's course...
Leaving the sacrificing Vriskol with a visage of ecstatic bliss. A blush took up his face, lining up around his nasal region, complemented with his half-minded chortle. The countdown was underway to absolute victory....
(Vriskol Malpercius)

Kyle, walking into the Wychwood Forest, the place of his pack, saw a fight between one purple-haired guy, and one other guy with a red cloak, so he come closer to see who is anyone, guys with purple hair remembers about the Malpercius, the old Master of Kyle had told him about this guys, but he can't remember about all, just can associate the name with the hair color.

Kyle know who is the guy with the red cloak! It is one of the Kappa of the pack, and with the end of the battle, Kyle notice how strong the purple haired guy is, he is right it is one boy of the Malpercius clan.

"Dammit boy! I'm not a match to him..." so as a lota, Kyle cannot keep looking this, his red eyes are fixed into Vriskol Malpercius now, so with a blink, his eyes pupil became black, so with a movement, he used a kick into the air, with the movement a shadow flame skill appears, and with the end of the movement, it leaves the foot of Kyle into the direction of Vriskol.

It gone into his direction like a wave of dark fire, lefting a trial of shadow flame in the way, Kyle didn't saw if it hits him or not, but he use the moment to go into the direction of Ilumi, standing in front of him, like a guardian, so he said to the malpercian teenage. " Go back, you're fighthing a member of the Oka Pack and trying to kill him into our forest, if you insists in your act, I will have to stop you" The shadow flames now begin to shroud him.
(Kyle Arsenal)

With the grasp upon Ilumi's face complete redacted, and some distance put between himself and the sudden arrival, Vriskol was suddenly yards away, set in the midst of a path of occultistic flames. Flames that swallowed him whole, for he lacked time to predict them prior to their arrival.
Without time to predict the attack nor defend himself, he was set to burn- The occultistic shell doing little to extinguish the flames aside from embrace them.

Slowly, it burned away- Leaving Vriskol to turned towards the caster of such an art. A magi somewhat younger than himself, stood without the likes of a left arm to his disposal, proving to be a devastating handicap. The Malpercian stood still, manifesting a sphere of occultistic energy about his form, aiding him in his pace through the still-burning shadowflame. A new target idled in his sights, and his name was Kyle Arsenal.

"...It's saddening to think fools like you make the first strike, and claim yourselves in the right... If needed be, I'll put you in his place."
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The fight begins to Kyle with another high kick to use a shadow flame wave, and it work! Probably Kyle hit the teenage Malpercius, the way to use magic of Kyle is brutal, visceral, he mix combat skills to cast magics, like the mana pulsate in diferent way in his body.

Returning to the fight, Kyle see one diferent magic, a death magic, he don't know what is it, but feels a lot of pain, like the tortures of his old master, so he feels a incontrolable rage, the Shadow Flame mana helps him to get mad, so he used a combo with one punch with his unique hand, and with the end of the movement, a dark fire ball leaves his fist and hit Vriskol, exploding, and creating a field of dark fire burning around the malpercius teenage, so, to continue the combo, another high kick to cast the shadow flame wave, and a trample on the floor, the territory around Kyle begin to become dark, he cast corruption.

But as he expect, Vriskol is an darkness mage, he used corrupted land, a powerful version of corruption, so Kyle runs fast to leave the darkness land, and uses again another punch with shadow flame ball and a high kick with shadow flame wave.

The battle is intense, they two had fight a lot, but Kyle think Vriskol is more tired, so it is the time to use the secret weapon, Kyle come closer to him and do a movement of a punch, with his unique arm, but his palm of the hand is open, so with this a blow of shadow flame leaves from it, and stay with this blow time enough to put Vriskol down, Kyle know it probably isn't the end of this battle, so he go back and get ready to start the fight again, saying simple words "You can leave this forest now and left my mate in peace, if you want."
(Kyle Arsenal)

Vriskol's occultistic shell, manifested to protect himself in combat and hostile scenarios was shattered, leaving him vulnerable to attacks of all accord.
He laid upon the ground, motionless for the moment- Rather lost in thought at the idea of defeat to some random magi.

The whole ordeal, seemed humoring...
Some stranger, putting a Malpercian down to the ground. It was enough to leave him in an erupting sense of laughter. Even as he remained on the ground, seemingly defeated, he couldn't help but insult his opponent with the condescending bellow from his gullet.

"You- Heheheh-.. You're really something." He picked his head up, turning his body over in a stretched pivot to set his mutated right arm upon the ground, supporting his rising body.
"You're definitely far stronger than I realized..." He found himself, nudging up upon a knee, standing upright in a matter of seconds- Back turned to Kyle.

"But."
The word seemed to snap, leaving an omnimous sense of ambiguity to float around.
"Did you really think, that for one second.." He turned his head to peer over at Kyle, "-That you would be on the same tier as myself, kid?" Without the occultistic shell smothering his physique, there was no barrier of his creation to keep his power bound. The resevoir of mana built within his circuit began to consolidate, growing potent and expanding it's presence to unleash a pungent effect unto the surroundings.

The chains to the power within, were now broken.

A weak shockwave exploded from his person, giving way to an ignited flame that burned without heated properties... One that wasn't of fire's affinity at all, but something far more dark: The Essence of Darkness, itself- Occultism.
The depravity was as sensible as ever now, even easier to be confused for the aura that roared quietly about his form.

Slowly he turned, eyes reflecting a maroon now, and swollen Malpercian arm extended for Kyle. As he spoke now, his voice seemed far more drowned in the essence he portrayed, huskier and far more solemn.

"....You want to play hero?... Well now, the roles have changed. Now, you get to play coward..... Run." With that... He lunged with speed that outmatched his previous stature- A tell-tale sign that he was far from done on his onslaught.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

(Skipping the remainder of the battle because it has no relevance to the developing technique in progress.)

 Albeit his originally selected victim to Sacrifce managed to get away, and the second victim was allegedly vaporized, the bored Malpercian continued his troll about the likes of Wychwood. It was a long way from Alteros, and with the sounds of frantic men and women nearby in the brush, likely hiding from Kokb'eal's forces- He was getting closer.

Upon his right arm, bandages fluttered in the errie breeze, tattered from his scuffles prior and hanging loosing in several strips to reveal the swollen abomination that was the Malpercian 'curse' upon his stature.
Much like an infection from his untreated wounds, it crawled up the flesh, transforming it into raw-pink.

As of the moment, the growth remained stagnant at the mid-bicep, splayed from a number of boney protrusions; Akin to a rose, the arm harbored bones comparible to thorns when used in reference.

Violet hair fluttered over his lavender pupils, scanning back and fro for any imperfections in the soil, attempting to pick up tracks, traces or clues of another subject to take up his time.
A closer glimpse at the boy would bring something to light; An omnimous glow, eggplant-grape shrouded close to the flesh...
A protective shell of occultism, generated about his person, leaving him impervious to magical interactions set to a lower standard than his own.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

Alastor was... Unhealthy, to say the least of it. Once he'd regained his energy, he felt something gone. He tired more quickly, blows seemed to hurt more. Oh, he was just as fast as before, just as strong, capable of cleaving a man in half with only his claws. But he had lost some of his precious vitality. His armor had been reconstructed, even stronger than before, as a defense to this, the only thing he could think of to compensate for whatever Pyralis had done to him.

The boy had stolen his memories... He'd have vengeance at some point, if the lad didn't die in the war. He was traversing through the Wychwood now, trying to regain his vigor through Sacrifice. So many Yokai that would attack so blindly, so many lives to take. Suddenly though, he heard something else. Someone moving through, so boldly. His eyes saw him next, and he almost grinned at the sight.

Purple hair and eyes, and a mutated right arm. Another Malpercian. Alastor stepped out, baring his own markings and hair, a massive blade upon his back. "Another of my kin so close to Danarium. Is Kzer-Za's call so... Seducing?"
(Alastor Malpercius)

Vriskol stopped in place, moving not a single hair further at the sound of Alastor's voice. He turned, batting a sideways eye for the source of the disturbance- drawn in by the similiar shade of violet hair and... Lavender pupils, much like his own?
He pivoted entirely, his head turning to inspect Alastor to a far greater degree with a foot pointing for his figure.

Violet Hair, like his own.
Purple pupils, like his own.
And... Even an arm, afflicted with the 'Malpercian curse': Sacrifice.
It was all the evidence he needed to commence a upturn of thoughts fluttering through his mind.

"This one was be one of the other Malpercians I heard about from Alteros... Pyralis... Or Alastor... Not sure as of yet." He thought to himself, using Rachel as reference for such knowledge. He turned entirely for Alastor now, still remaining silent, leaving only time to a prolonged and awkward stare.

Perhaps, this one wasn't very social? He didn't seem too gifted in the art, at the very least.
"Hrmmm..... Pecular."
Those were the only words to leave his lips, accompanied with the wonderous tilt of the head.
"According to my sources, only one of which actually took refuge in Alteros as a bodyguard... But how to test such in advance, prior to making the assumption."
Alas, he snapped out of the silence to respond with sensible words.
"...Kin... Yes. I- Simply traversed here from Alteros... I take it you'reeeee-... " He dragged out the last word as he thought on the introduction, "...Pyralis, yes? I've heard a great deal about you... Vriskol, that's the name. As for my reasoning in being here, I heard of others within Kokb'eal's domain. It made the purpose in my trek, undeniable."
(Vriskol Malpercius)

Pecular? That was the only thing that could come to a Malpercians lips? Perhaps it was his aura that had the man offset. He reeked of depravity from a dozen different sources, different shades all blended together into one wonderful cocktail of depraved might.

"No, I am not Pyralis." He practically growled the words, pointed teeth bared in anger at the sound of the voice. His hand snapped around the hilt of his blade, and he looked to be on the verge of drawing it, over the smallest slight. "How do you know that name, and how dare you consider me equal to that child. I am Alastor Malpercius, protege of Sinh Mourn."

An aura of power flared into effect at that vain declaration, as violet eyes shifted back and forth from black to the hue of a Malpercian.
(Alastor Malpercius)

"Pyralis is a child? Well, that is off-setting indeed."
The flux in power was indeed threatening, however, being one whom lacked mana sensing abilities, he didn't truly know the sheer magnitude that differed their powers on a relatively approximate degree. In a way, it left him feeling abit uneasy- Yet as usually, he kept himself together as he usually would, attempting to protray himself as a monotone and inquisitive persona.

"So, you're Alastor Malpercius, huh? I've heard a good deal about you too. Infact, I've been searching for you, for a good few months now."
Of course, the monotone act was only a mask- A tactic picked up from Umi in his travels.

It wasn't long before he cracked a taunting grin towards Alastor, even chortling under his breath at the angry lash towards him.
"I'll admit though, my sourcea did fail to mention that you have -quite- a temper... Hrmm.... Is that how all of the others are like?"
(Vriskol Malpercius)

He suddenly dashed forward at the taunt, the grin. His blade wasn't in his hands, too large a weapon to draw so quickly, but instead a taloned claw of a Dragon had gripped Vriskols throat, the very tips of the claws threatening to puncture small holes. He didn't squeeze hard, but the strength in his grip was incredible, and Vriskol would find it nearly impossible to break free by conventional means.

"It'd be a shame if the one you searched for ended up being your executioner. I might just have to make good on that, if you continue this taunting. I spare you once, for our shared blood. Do not test me again." His hand released the teens throat and pulled back, a frown making itself obvious.

"Now, why have you come searching for me?" He stepped back and pulled out a cigarette, still blazing the mark of Sinh so openly, so brazenly. It made him weaker too, but this weakness empowered him so greatly. The tip of his finger flared, and the cigarette was lit, and the corrupted Drakan took a puff, calming slightly as the Soothe Reed filled his system.
(Alastor Malpercius)

A hand came for the Malpercian's neck with haste, leaving no time to react for the apparently tired, monotonious teenager. He fell victim to the tightness of the man's grip, lacking the strength to resist against the hold as well; Not even the potency of his magical capabilities seemed ready to combat what left him incapacitated for the moment...

However, the occultistic shell that hugged close to his form proved to be the only shielding between that of Drakanite claws, and his flesh. As of the moment, the claws threatened to crack at he shell, leaving potential opportunity to pierce into his neck altogether- But could Alastor pierce the shell had he tried?

That was the question running through Vriskol's mind. It was a manifestation lacking opacity of any accord with the exception of the granted outline on his physique. His right arm was practically shaking, hoping to take advantage of the scenario with an unsuspected use of sacrifice- But would it even make it through? Even if it did, would it be worth attacking another of his kind?
In time, these questions were dropped with the release of his neck, leaving him to relax the fear of defeat away.

Now, there was the insulting scent of Soothe Reed, leaving him wincing at it's invasive fog generated as Alastor careless took it into his system. The mark of Sinh and Soothe Reed are all but distractions as of the moment though, for explanation was athand!

"...I came searching for you, because I have been told by those of Alteros, that you are capable of aiding me with the unique ability we possess." He rose his right arm, revealing the developing arm at close range:
Swollen, with a few gashes transcending down the arm. The protrusions were spiny bones, sharpened to the likeness of daggers, contorted in their exterior growth and dulled at points where abrasions took their course.
The flesh was raw, yet hardened-
"I believe that with your knowledge on the subject, and perhaps your guidance, you could prove to be a... " He gave pause for words...
"...A mentor. Of sorts... I'm sure you're better at naming such a title better than I."
(Vriskol Malpercius)

(Skipping ahead to another use in another encounter.)

The eldest and only notable member of the Harukean clan stood firmly against the pair of apparently friendly strangers. Eutan remembered neither of them, despite Alastor's evident recollection of the Diabolicon-wielding adult's presence, and had no intent to lose his Malpercian to a pair of trouble-making... Malpercians. It was relatively clear, the set of purple-haired individual's race, as he studied them. The winds whipped around Eutan's form with unusually strong currents, and the flows were blatantly the work of... Pyralis, as the oldest of the trio had deemed the teenager.

"Oh, he has a name?", the masked Occultist questioned, intent upon discovering his cohort's identity. A cackle slipped from betwixt Eutan's lips, as he fell back on the memory of applying to 'Pyralis' a needlessly vague signature. It was almost comedic, though such a situation held no place for comics. A chill spread throughout the surrounding atmosphere, as the following effects of Malpercius' magics followed through. Pulsating waves of temperature spread within the bounds of Eutan's form, and the emotion that he presumed followed such offenses...

He wallowed in the former 'Pyralis'' willingness to tie himself to a man that had done naught but free him from what was blatantly a prison. Perhaps it was out of a needless requirement for alliances? Did Malpercius secretly enjoy company? It was quite impossible to tell, though Eutan couldn't care much less. His palm drooped to wander to the surface of the Diabolicon, brushing past its surface and carressing its glorious texture. The very presence of the thing was attractive, at the Harukean's level of attachment, despite its grotesque countenance and innards.

Regardless of how Eutan thought of it, however, his tome was relentless in its discomfort. Never was the grimoire's cover the same, constantly contorting to provide an uncommonly horrid feel and set of sensations... the shrouded man had come to love such horrors and abominable features, the discomfort almost providing him relief, as if a signal that his decade-long friend was still present. His paled hand slipped upwards, returning to the public's eye, for all to gaze upon. It contained naught but the disturbed air that his Malpercius comrade had induced, though... something was off.

Stirring to life in the center of his palm was an immensely depraved object of ethereal origin. What was previously a grin ripped emotion from the visage of Eutan, the corners of his maw tilting heavily to form into a visibly-disappointed scowl. Even through the stretch of cloth that blanketed his locations of breathing, the silhouette of his horrible, youthful lips was obvious. Whatever it was that he maintained atop his appendage... It was far from 'good.' In fact, it was possible the opposite of such a concept. From the conjuration, an air of coldness spread.

Although, this coldness was not of Malpercius' forgings. Instead, it was the temperature of... emptiness, as if all the substance that touched the spheroid vanished into Death. "... Names, stories," Eutan mumbled, barely intelligible through the fabric of his mask, "All that matters to me."
(Eutan Haruke)

A change in tone for the enviornment left the unprepared magi to quiver and bend at it's mercy. He backpedaled some, but not quite fast enough. He wasn't neccessarily as energetic as Alastor, leaving him to fall victim to the life-sapping essence that manifested from the Harukean's standpoint.
The occultistic shell he manifested in his defence, hours ago, began to crack. Akin to glass, shattering in the wake of oppresive impact, the shielding proved no match for a soul-siphoning presence.

He made some distance, but not nearly enough to evade it's effect entirely.
He fell to his knees, planting his mutated arm into the sands for support, panting as lifeforce drained from his body in methods that exceeded his current comprehension. It left him uneasy, to note that the barrier he took up for himself was falling from his figure, piece by piece, leaving him with further vulnerability.

He didn't set his eyes upon Pyralis for the moment, but he did hear out his voice.
"I-... I see... Then, in that case, Alastor's explanation was... Correct..."
(Vriskol Malpercius)

(Skipping to -another- encounter)

The coin toss caught his full attention, lavender pupils followed it's ascension, anticipating the moment of truth he was to partake in should his be realized. Alas, the coin fell into the palm of Eutan's own, leaving his eyes to dilate at the result.
His heart seemed to skip a beat, for an opportunity to unleash himself upon others had come to light so soon. The guards up ahead left him rather excited, despite the remains from the apparent fallen that have tried their way for the protectors of such a setting.

Was this the mouth of Mormegil's entrance? Was their search finally over? In such a case, it was a suitable reward for his travels; Not to mention, the lack of successful, full-fledged sacrifices he has had thus far. This time, there was nothing to obstruct his attempts- Leaving him with the full drive to carry through pent-up murderous intent.

His right arm rose over his own face, cuffed so that his fingers would arch over his visage, leaving a single eye to peer for a selected soldier in particular in the group up ahead.

"Today, I feast with my kin... Alastor, you took up the lead up until now. This time however..." Akin to that of a blade turning in the sunlight's glare, a sheen developed over his flesh in a thin blanket, phasing with potent opacity alongside his outline, tainted a deep violet. An amethyst illumination possessed his physique, taking the shape of a shell of occultistic energy, hugging close to protect from inferior methods of impact to that of his held back magic albeit at the cost of his own radiating potency.

"This time, I take the lead..." He wasn't going to wait for Eutan to announce the result of the coin-toss, far too eager to prove himself useful to that of his bloodline... Too quick to engourge himself with the lusts of combat.
He broke into a raging sprint, arms hanging behind his diving head. A wicked grin plastered upon his visage gave way to laughter- Outright taunting his opponents prior to his arrival.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

{NARRATION} The ground rumbled with the forces urged forth from both Vriskol and Alastor's mighty strengths, though their own endurance is taken down a notch, as well. Both of them are left bruised and cut, but with no sort of true injury, much less a fatal or even crippling one. The entrance to Mormegil is once again paved with the blood of those that attempted to guard it and, if not for the government that they were set to impose shortly, there would surely be chaos -- or, perhaps, this was standard? Whatever lied within that city's borders was an utter mystery, forever doomed to a clouded history, unless Eutan and cohorts proved capable enough to retake the forgotten city.

The battle seemed to drag on- finally leaving way to the fall of a single guard to a Malpercian's volition.
Vriskol fell to his knees, smashing his oversized right arm unto one of the fallen that once took up battle against the Malpercians. Fingers clutched tightly to into their helm, preventing their escape. A glow as true as sanguine tainted the air at the crevices of contact between the mutated palm. The body from within was unseen from the exterior, completely shrouded in knightly protection. The armor shifted awkwardly at points, for the body within shriveled up, adjoined in terms of vitality and mana through the passage-way that was, Sacrifice.

Suddenly, for the first time- A flash of fluttering images scattered through Vriskol's mind, leaving an ecstatic tingling to follow up his arm. The final breath of this enemy left with a hissing breeze from his lips, plaguing Vriskol with imagery of strict training within a dimly lit battleground in a place, that knew no sunlight...

Oddly enough, the images felt familiar... As though, of his own- So inebriating, that he was flushed in the face across the nasal region, left with an expression of absolute shameless bliss. Of course, this did not excuse him from settling down in the midst of battle- Having successfully completely a full Sacrifice, the Malpercian was well on his way on understanding what it mean't to be a part of such lineage.

The will to kill burned within his soul, kept locked away for so long, he gladly undid the binding chains that left his malice rendered without presence.
He lashed out for another, seemingly nearby and making his charge known with a battlecry.

Unlike his companion, he attracted the vast majority of the guards, however did not slaughter them in the drooves as he did.
Blades sought out for his flesh clashed not into his non-existant armor, but the generated shell of occultism that shrouded his skin. It's friction with Vriskol's body, regardless of impact sent a flurry of plum sparks to scatter in it's wake, complemented with the tickling black static that convulted it's shape at the shape of obstructions upon the occultistic barrier of Vriskol's creation.

"Holding back... Has it's advantages." He spoke out in a solemn tune, rising to his feet as he turned for the most-recent combatant to strike at his person. With the resilence properties he wielded, he appeared almost indestructible!
A jabbed blade to the back, blessed the air with the accursed sound of cracking glass. The shell was damaged, shattered with the same likeness, stretching out it's illuminating lines without discrimination of apparel nor flesh it hovered over. It was the only proof that his barrier wasn't of absolute impervious quality, albeit Vriskol proved lucky- This specific warrior fell victim to Alastor's wrath during the scuffle, leaving him to focus on the original target at hand.

A free left hand found it's way swatted for the chestal region of said warrior, giving sudden halt as though to stop mid-way into his attack.
"...I win."
A flash of light, and the scene gave way to a devastating and tide-turning technique. A roaring wall of occultistically tainted mana tore through the sandy enviornment, taking all that remained in it's way with it. Winds generated in the general direction, and the air thundered in it's wrathful journey for the horizon: A Beam of Darkness Energy, fired off without warning.

He was officially victorious, however exhausted.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

(Skipping to another session)

The desert landscape; home of the stinnox, bandits and tribes-- It would only be a coincidence that this tribesman had been back in the desert. The young teenaged boy would have actually just been ripping his spear out of the back of one of the stinnox. The spear spun once before coming back under his cloak, as he soon simply grasped onto the tail of the beast.

He would begin the drag, as he was planning to drag the carcass back towards the tribe from which he came. The sun that was coming down didn't seem to bother him in the slightest, the dark skin taking in the heat and not feeling the harsh burn that it normally would have-- instead he seemed to have been very adjusted to such harsh temperment; not even a bead of sweat drop from his brow.
(Kuroda Kaito)

 Unbeknownist to Kuroda, on the close horizon a single individual idled in a casual meditative stance. Encased in a thin shell of solidified occultism that harbored miniscule opacity with the exception of it's dim illumination hugging close to his flesh and apparel.

Fingers from his raw, swollen and meaty fingers of his mutated right arm and his juxtaposing unaltered left arm met in a near intermingling state, cuffed with spacing to enable a small fabrication to envelop around empty space at the center of his palms.

Much like, a miniature sphere, hollowed of the essence he radiated- Like a portable yet protective orb of a destructive element. Slowly shrinking down to the equivelence of a pea, prior to expand with a shuddering effect to it's growth, enough to phase past his person and swallow him whole. Albeit transparent, the protective sheilding matched the glow of the Malpercian's outline, proving to be evidence of an attempt of an ancient magic in progress- One altered to that of it's opposing element for the first time.

Eyes opened to set upon a moving stinnox carass traversing the plains of the desert in the distance, and at the end of it's tail, dragging it dutifully, was Kuroda- The first human he's seen that proved not to be his nearby comrades venturing for Mormegil.
He rose from the sands he idled upon, and with a mere glimpse at his resting place, one would come to notice almost a half-dozen of life siphoned men in armor- Armor that once belonged to the Arachnean Alliance, Arachnis' militia.

"This looks moderately interesting, don't see people -this- close to coming across Mormegil everyday." He was still some distance away, leaving his speech to rather incomprehensible had Kuroda lacked some sense of exemplary hearing capabilities. "Well, might as well have my fun before I'm stuck out here for a while longer..."

The barrier began to fade as he closed in, leaving only his boots to clap in the occasional thud against a rock close under the sands he walked upon. A ponytail trailed down his back, strands of violet hair hung down his face to shroud the pale skin that defied the sunlight's burn. Lavender pupils, with a hint of maroon reflected the teenager with inspecting quality; Curious, yet not enticed to say the first word in the confrontation, he only encroached, leaving his boots to introduce himself.

Once Kuroda would turn for him though, he'd stop in place, giving an idle stare until a response left him satisfied.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The emeraldine eyes had began to search about the desert landscape as he soon heard a voice that echo'd about for a while in the vast empty space; the sound however was something that would indeed find their ways to his ears-- the lucky traits of a hunter would be keen hearing as well as other senses of that nature. The vision would soon find their way ceasing at the individual who was standing a few yards from him, his hand that had been dragging the stinnox about would stop at this moment.

It was not something he expected, to see someone in this vast of a desert. The individual that had poised themselves before him was an interesting character for sure, a white cloak that surely shone bright in the rays of the unleashed sun; the lavender hair would seem more incadescent as well in the rays of light. His own form would stick out with the red cloak he adorn, so it was something in common.

Upon closer inspection, he'd have no problem getting a good guage of the age group-- a young man or teen. Most likely much older then him, and the mutations from failed dabbling in magic would catch his attention but he would not jump his assumtions or anything of that nature. Instead he simply grasped tightly to the stinnox and pulled it closer to himself; then turned to face the man.

A hand moved down to his waist, pulling up a waterskin made of animal hide. Taking the top from it and he took a swig of the contents, the liquid would hydrate him and give him enough moisture to be able to shout out at a tone he'd enjoy.

"Morm'gil?" He questioned, the expression on his face seemed genuinely confused-- and concerned. "Ther' a place 'round 'ere? My tribe ain' to far from 'ere, so i'm a bit curious now eh." He spoke out loudly at this point, not seeming to notice the armored individuals behind him-- or more so, maybe he did but chose to ignore life siphoned individuals.
(Kuroda Kaito)

Vriskol fell silent when he came to notice that he was heard when he mentioned the village name, and thus, proceeded not to take up immediate response but set his eyes to scan from head to toe. Everything upon Kuroda's possession was taken into account, and completed with a pace that circled his person, leaving a few yards worth of radius between them to prevent the potential lash-out he predicted should a conclusion be jumped to...

He picked up the sash right away, 'Sash 46', recording it to memory and thoroughly scanning the red cloak for any imperfections. Not to absorb appreciation for art nor style that may or may not have existed upon the apparel whether gained by a tailor, ornament or battle- but for obtusions that proved stubborn to his predicted physique: A hidden weapon, bound to be sheathed?

He didn't spot one yet, thus, he ended his circle as he approached Kuroda's frontside once more, slowing to a stop and pivoting to face him once again. By now, the attempt of extended Barrier Magic was gone, leaving him without a glowing sphere but a hugging shell about his form.

"Easily in the teens... Dark Skinned... Bears a numbered sash, perhaps one of sentimence. "He uttered off without a particular reciever to his examination speech.
"Supposedly resides nearby, judging by the Stinnox-" Eyes shifted to reflect the carcass in it's gaze,"- Such is confirmed. It could prove bothersome if there are too many..." Words decremented into a pondering hum. His head fell to his side, as though to look over one's shoulder- yet he said nothing to Kuroda specifically, only inspected him, as though he were some sort of experiment of test subject.

"Then again, perhaps they could be of use..."
Time spent within the desert left him changed, alongside with prolonged time periods of meditation. Thus, the means he acted now, reflected his newly developed perception.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The teenager had begun to pick up little clues and hints between what he could hear and what he could only ponder on, as the man before him was one that had not been speaking particularly to him-- but about him. The emerald eyes at that pointed narrowed a tidbit, as the trust in this person quickly diminished off to the side of simply wishing to avoid this one now. So for now he simply reached an arm out and grasped onto the stinnox once more.

If he wasn't being spoken to, he may as well leave this man-- whom might have a loose screw or two-- alone.

With that thought in tow, he began to make way towards the east once more, the fingers clenched onto the tail of the stinnox and began to trudge it along in tow once more. The tribe wasn't particularly far at this point, but he still didn't have much time to waste between the transport and idly chit-chat with an individual he did not quite know or trust.

Thus, he kept on moving at this point-- assuming the man who perused him did not follow or stop him, he'd continue to venture off back towards his own tribe.
(Kuroda Kaito)

"Now that he leaves, this leaves risk. It'd be a shame to go through so much, only to lose it to a single traveler?" He started to take up chase, in the form of hastened walking, eyes locked unto Kuroda with suspicion.
"...Then again, it's just one. " The debate raged on in his head, curious as to the results on taking up further confrontation yet fearful of having the name of 'Mormegil' dropped to the ears of others.

"...A dangerous one." He finished, extending his arms out for the teenager, whom he'd imagine would have his back turned by now.
Within the centre of his palms, small spheres as true as ebony manifested with ashen stokes of static, crackling across the surface of the smooth occultistic orbs until the circumference stretched from the hilt of his palm, to his extended fingers, riveting it's way for Kuroda with a scream through the calmly winded airs about, scaling over their shoulder to combust on a sand-dune, not too far from the teenager's sights-

The strike would force sand into the air, clouding the immediate area with only a single message implied: Aggression.
Awaiting a counter-measure, Vriskol stood ready, letting his left arm fall to his side, and his mutant one to rise over his face, brandishing the grotesque display for eyes that invited the sight.

Swollen and raw, sized to almost twice that of his left and meaty; The fingernails extended into talons of a dull-snow color, whilst the remainder of his arm up to the point of his bicept was left with protruding appendages of bone. Twisted and blunt towards the elbow, yet sharpened and pointed down the arm as one traveled up to the fingers: This was the Malpercian's afflicted flesh, gifted by the Yokai in their early lineage- Sacrifice.

"I suppose dealing with you doubles as my entertainment... Meditations out here get mundane incredibly fast- Besides, I have something I've been meaning to test for a while now..."
He reasserted his footing, Malpercian hand arching over his face to hide all but a single eye, freed from the obstructive strands of his own violent hair and stretched out as though to aid his own sight in a creepy mannerism.

"....Come now." He taunted.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The young teenager had been keen on keeping his ears open to subtle sounds, such as the sands movement and footsteps amongst them. Even with his back turned the hunter never truly lets a potential predator of such get out of his five senses. Thus with the sounds of the sands being tredded rapidly, the boy went under his cloak and pushed a button on a latch-- to which from beneathe his cloak a spear would come forth.

At first it was in two pieces, bound by each other by a chain-- only be slammed back together with a twist of a hand. The boy would come soaring forward while he released the stinnox that was in hand, the sands skidded as he turned his vision towards the Malpercius-- he had not been wanting a battle. No, infact he didn't even have intentions of fighting this day when it came to single hand to hand combat.

Instead he would stare forward towards Vriskol, the emeraldine eyes had focused on the man in vision. The one who could only be seen as the same age as him, the spear spun and was placed in a manner that showed he was at least somewhat versed in combat. The vision focused on the man, as the sand would flow in the air without much effort.

He did not speak, he only plotted. The back of his mind rambling over the options he had at the moment, but the most evident one would be survival at this point. As he stared forth at the grotesque arm, and then towards the stinnox he had beside him. A simple grit of the teeth, as he would have to surely make his own sacrafices this day.

Unaware of the reasons of such an attack, he did not allow the taunts to get to him. Instead he stood in a prepared tone, the spear grasped tightly as he backed warily.
(Kuroda Kaito)

Kuroda didn't approach, leaving Vriskol abit baffled at the sight.
"Hm? Even when under suspicion of potential attack, one does not take up immediate strife to land the first, if not second immediate blow?" He spoke as though it were some sort of discovery of amazing porportions.
"...You're indeed different than a few I've come across before, perhaps the appropriate word for it is... Timid?"
His right hand left his face slowly, moved down some to uncover his right eye- Only to fall limp to his side, leaving the two in a staredown of sorts.

However, from Vriskol's standpoint, a stygian essence radiated from his person, entangling limbs and apparel in it's constant uproar, leaving him shrouded in a cloudy darkness that took the shape of cold flame. An aura bearing an arrangement of complementing amethyst and orange hues to surround the occultist.

"Regardless, I suppose if you won't make the first move, I will. Who knows? Maybe we'll both come to discover something by time this is well and over."
Mild pause ensued prior to his caving lean, giving in to the force of gravity, and defying his own descent with a sprint into battle. His only weapon aside from the defining aura, was the Malpercian arm- His sheild? The barrier that hugged close to the flesh.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The teenaged boy had stared forth towards Vriskol, his eyes as weary as ever. The sash blew in the winds effortlessly as the wind had begun to pick up about the area; signs of a fight made the earth seem to change as well. The senses about things, and the sensetivity to actions would only increase more-so; as he had simply nodded his head.

This most likely had to be over the sash-- it was the only thing that possibly could have led to this battle in result. Perhaps this was a warrior of the tournament as well? Though he seen no sash in view; the chances of that was slim to none. Regardless; the boy simply kept his movements on the defense for now as he held the spear pointed. Responding to the man's own voice with silence.

He spoke with action, and he was only waiting. As he watched the magi start lunging towards him, a shift in his magical circutry could be felt in the air. It was clear something changed around the teenager, the aires of him had transmuted into a different form. It had turned into something far more scary then a mere teenager. It was the feeling that was given by a warrior.
(Kuroda Kaito)

Closing in doggedly for Kuroda without the will to surrender him to his own tribe, he lunged with every opportunity that granted itself present. The ground gave off a deadman's symphony, sands scattering for the skies in the wave of the earth shattered beneath, pressing the winds for the skies above, yet beckoning the lifeforce of souls to cripple to it's likeness.

All the while, Kuroda would share the plum illumination that Vriskol gave off, cursed by the sudden intimate encounter with occultistic essence, leaving Vriskol's body to pose as a Voodoo doll for Kuroda's well-being.
Slowly, occultism marked at the Malpercian's flesh; Whilst they appeared as nothing more than scratches on his person, far less damning in the presence of a conjured shell of protective energy- Kuroda was suffering gashes that refused to strike up blood to stain the soils.

Instead of crimson gold in this victory, only the searing freeze of darkness' embrace lingered, leaving one with shudders that trickle down the spine akin to arctic waters.
Finally, the corrupted earth would bring one to their knees- Whilst Vriskol remained stagnant upon his feet, a generated sheild of occultism withered in his approach, an extended right arm reached for Kuroda. Was he... Going to sacrifice this boy? Would the teenager be doomed to such damnation? Was this... The end?
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The teenager would be gasping for air, as bloodless wounds would begin to welt across his body-- if he did manage to survive this ordeal it would truly act as a scarring event. He was sure that victory in this battle was not one that would be possible; yet he was unaware of the intent of this man but he could only assume death would be the outcome. .

This occultismn and death seemed to go hand in hand often, as he recollected events not to long ago pertaining to the yokai. He gritted his teeth as he fell into a form of anguish, pain from the wounds that struck his body. The weapon that barely did anything to the man with Lavender hair before him. The entire encounter that was only by chance that may very well end his life. .

A miracle was something the teen had secretly prayed for. .

However, he did not wish to simply roll over any play dead. He did not wish to end up like those hunks of armor that he can only assume died from the cause of this man now-- and perhaps they were bandits, perhaps they were not. Regardless the boy could only hold his spear forth and stare at the other teen, a glare that was raged on by animosity. He simply stared forth at the man, whom he would soon likely be at the mercy of-- unless he'd be able to escape somehow.
(Kuroda Kaito)

Suddenly, the urge to go all-out died out, and thus, began his death march for the finishing blow to finally bring end to this confrontation. He was prepared to finally take up a test subject and let this be the end of struggle and the beginning to discovery of his limits and capabilities. The reasoning in his attack was to be revealed-

Whilst another would struggle to stand in the life-siphoning presence that was Occultism, another closed in as wolves do to cornered game. Albeit many strikes from the spear met his person, they could only expect to bounce off the generated shell on contact, leaving the Malpercian unscaved with his own power-crippling seal upon himself- One that doubled up to be a personal barrier of occultism, defiant to strikes of magical and physical capabilities alike.

Of course, it was not indestructible, as demonstrated by a lucky final blow from Kuroda, lunging straight into Vriskol's chest and tainting the air with a sharp crack!
It was comparible to the cry of fallen glass; The view took the shape of contorted lining that convulged and tickled their way from the impacted area- Branching out for the curves and corners of his body underneath the shell. It almost looked like he'd fall to pieces at any given moment, yet managed to hold himself together via methods unknown.

The spear was stuck in the crafted nitch in his chest, moving him with the strike, yet did not impale into the flesh beneath.
Without hesitation, the mutated arm grabbed ahold of the weapon's hilt, hopefully grabbing ahold of one of Kuroda's hands to firmly confine it to his grasp. From the close proximity and contact, one could feel the very breath exercising it's way out of their lungs. The air grew cold, and fatigue settling in- The bone-chilling power forced one to their knees, enabling Vriskol with the ability to whip the weapon from his chest and drop it to the side.

"That was too close for comfort." He spoke in a monotonious fashion, eyes falling half-lidded, showing some sort of developing disinterest in the magi. Now that the battle was over, he no longer had combat against the mundane expression that burdens him so often. The thrill of combat, had subsided- However, the chill of occultism never left the scene.

Now, standing with a shattered shell of occultism set upon his chest, looking down at the defeated whom he'd imagine to still be on their knees at this point, he was suddenly, without words, still making out his methods for carrying out his intentions. A resounding hum left his person as he resettled himself into a deep ponder.
(Vriskol Malpercius)

He had been panting, another show that would only mark his weakness when it came to combat still. The boy had found his way down onto a knee and had been trying to catch his breathe-- as the spear had found its way accurately to the mark but he lacked the strength to continue it through. The teenager's eyes at this point found their way towards the amythist eyes of the victor of the fight, as his pride would not allow him to cower now.

Instead he simply stood put and prepared for the worst of the outcome that would surely be death, sweat dripped from his brow as the excitement of battle had caused prespiration to drip from his form, as he stared forth towards the teenager whom had now loomed over him. The polearm and arm had been grasped, as his eyes had stared heedlessly at him. .

What would fate bring to this teenaged boy now?

It was a question he mulled over in silence, as his face still had been bemused-- the thoughts roved over his head of family and what not, and of loathing himself for not being strong enough to escape what was to befall of him now.

". . If it is the sash ya' afta'. . take it."

He admitted, finally speaking out the reason he thought the man had been attackin him. Unbeknownst to him it was of the location, which had already passed by this tribal man's thoughts as it drew to no importance to him. He simply sat on a knee, as he stared towards Vriskol.
(Kuroda Kaito)

{NARRATION} Large figures stepped out of the shadows, embraced by a bronze. Bones prattled from bands strapped around their necks as they approached Vriskol. Eyebrows were raised in question to the scene, as their fellow tribesman Kuroda stood toe to toe with a stranger. Spears were held high, as they shifted to a more offensive stance - an action for the sake of defending their territory.

"Why would I, care for a numbered sash?"
The Malpercian's accursed arm lowered for Kuroda's face, it's flesh vacumed at the very breath he had left, prepared to abruptly Sacrifice him to become apart of the collective that took up residence within the arm.
However, just before the hand could effectively grant contact and execute the magi child, something came across his sights.

"What's this?"

Figurines took their shapes to be that of men, all armed and battle-ready. It was entirely unsuspected, and resulted in the withdrawal of his hand from the boy, leaving him with an opporunity to take up flight.
"More? Others? This is indeed not a problem at this point. " He gave in to a chortling fit, evolving into a weak cackle.
"No, this is... A blessing... A sacrifice of greater porportions."

The boy could choose to blindside Vriskol for another round in his favor, his own numbers against the lone Malpercian, just a few sand dunes away from a large traveling group of Malpercians lead by a single Harukean-- Or he could turn tail and run, to leave the warriors to face the Malpercian without him. It was possible that the bodies that idled the sands, hollowed of the bodies that once equipped them were vanquished by this very individual, meaning he was especially dangerous to go toe to toe with, if the confrontation prior didn't prove it yet.

"...Bring it on... " He spoke in a growling tone, visage bending to reveal his satisfaction. Finally, whatever peace once persisted throughout the scenario was shattered with a single bellow that roared from his gullet.
"COME AT ME!"
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The boy had been sitting there at that moment, the teen prepared for death-- until the respite and lag between his defeat and death turned the tables completely. There they stood, a group of Tribesmen coming to his rescue. The eyes had shifted across them, each of them looking strong and intimidating but he knew-- he understood the underlying condition many of them surely would have been in.

He didn't waste the effort though, he instead when and pushed his way from the man completely forgoing his spear that was still in Vriskol's hand. The teenager at this point would make his way to the tribal men-- these ones in particular were only a few of the many that would try and protect the tribes on a day to day bases from rivaling tribes and bandits alike. The boy at this point had panted out, glad and miserable at the same time.

"W-what are you guys doing out here?"

He questioned the biggest one, Ragna. The bronze skinned individual who looked fit and burly as a bear simply nodded and smiled, their accent both being very similar and heavy when it came to dialect. The adult spoke out. "You took a bit long to retrieve the stinnox. . Now. . you have a duty, and we have our own. . Be gone. ."

The boy looked as if he wanted to argue, but the look in Ragna's eyes was one of solid willpower. There would be no breaking it, no going against the words. The boy simply clenched his teeth and abided the command, respecting how the tribe worked. He bent his willpower and his own pride, as he went to grasp onto the stinnox by the tail.

With that being done, he would begin to head off into the desert-- with it, he would leave not only his spear. . but a piece of his own pride.
(Kuroda Kaito)

Heavy steps were taken towards Vriskol, a man covered in white drapes - they couldn't protect him from Ragna. Smoke blew from his nose as he cautiously observed the figure, but the brute wouldn't judge. The Course of action he would execute had already been decided the moment he stood against one of his own. Ragna didn't approve of violence in most cases, but he fought to protect his own.

"Ragna shall chase you away." He spoke in a rather deep voice, that was shortly followed by a roar.

One of the most powerful warriors of the Clan knew a trick of their own, of course. Ragna hardly knew of his own potential, but Vriskol would soon realise what it meant to protect. Pebbles rose to join Ragna in the air as he floated from the ground, perhaps it was due to the extreme power - the pressure that slipped his aura.

Pupils rotated in his sockets, as two blank eyes watched Vriskol. The Heavy Spear was raised, pointing towards Vriskol as it threatened to attack. There was no turning back now, he flied towards Vriskol - chased by sonic booms that were created from the sway of his legs.
(Ragna)

Vriskol was bracing for impact from the sands below, completely forgetting about Kuroda's escape. At this point, the roles were reversed, for now he was not pushing on the question of when he would vanquish his foe, but -if- he could vanquish his foe.

The hovering pebbles of the dusty soil hovering for the skies above, left him with a sense of shock, finally coming across a warrior in his travels he could battle on his own. Not only to prove to himself of his growth in power since his departure from Alteros, but to finally Sacrifice something worthwhile.

Albeit, he lacked a weapon to match a heavy spear, nor was he capable of properly taking on an opponent with an aerial advantage on any equal grounds whatsoever, he persisted with the idea of combat rather than turn back.
"Hm." A cracked grin melted upon his visage, "I'll enjoy feasting upon you, you're far stronger than the boy from the looks of it. Nourishing for me, to say the least... Who knows, maybe I'll try my experiment on you instead."

The shell that encompassed his person cracked further, stretching long and far across his entiety until finally, piece by piece, they fell like shards of glass. THe barrier was falling apart, and with the slightest of movements it's destruction left it phasing from existence. Albeit, the fabrication was no more- so was the seal of the Malpercian's power. No longer stretched out for abundance, it burned out with a vengence, growing potent by the second. The reasoning in his personal sealing was growing clear.

A thick miasma of occultistic power trailed off of his person, leaving the air deprived of it's warmth.
"...Now then..." He spoke with sudden bass in his adopted solemn tone. It was grave, unlike anything he gave off prior-- This was, what he was holding back all of this time.
The husky-voiced Vriskol took a single step forth, his lavender eyes now shimmering with a hint of maroon.
"Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
(Vriskol Malpercius)

The Pressure laid upon Vriskol as a heavy boulder he couldn't lift, the weight of protecting and perserving. Ragna meet Vriskol's resistance with an iron fist, literally. He pummeled his foe repeatedly with said weapon, mixing in swipes with his spear, yet he was unable to thrust holes into Vriskol. The Malpericus had evasive abilities, he'd give him that but none could match Ragna's strength.

His pace stepped up to the point of where Ragna sprinted until he finally reached Vriskol, from there his leg was launched towards the male's stomach. It carried him up, up and then sailing away to the sound of Ragna's voice.

"THIS IS OUR TRIBE. DON'T COME BACK!"

Ragna's fist waved behind him in an uproar, he didn't seem too content with the Malpericus.
(Ragna)

Suddenly, this was a fight for his life, straining to even sustain himself under the pressure that slowned his movement under the gargantuan wieght crafted from the heavens and bared on his insignificant person. The spear slashed across like a hammer, smacking him left and right, however, it's jabs remained unsuccessful, missing with the evasions Vriskol managed to pull off with a series of squirms and leans.

The speed he demonstrated was not that of practiced ability nor skill, but luck and adreneline pumping through his veins. However, the spear was nothing compared for what came next- The end to the scuffle altogether.
Something sunk into his stomach that he failed to realize up until now. Eyes trailed down as time and space succumbed to his fast-running mind. This wasn't time manipulation, for he too was suspended to it's mercy; It was absolute focus in the heat of the moment.

The foot fell flat against him, forcing him to ascend for the skies above in a nigh-comical matter. The only thing aside from the wind whistling past his ears he could comprehend, was not of an aching abdomen, but of Ragna's voice.
He knew now, that not too far from Mormegil, trouble was afoot, something to report to his fellow breathren.

His eyes never left the spot in which he was stricken, revealing that it was indeed -not- a direct hit, for a strike of such magnitude against his bare flesh would penetrate the body with it's force, leaving him not only ruptured from the inside, but crippled to some degree for a period of time.
A small manifestation of occultistic magic took the shape of a selective shell rested where the hit landed, leaving him with a grin upon his face.

"...Heh... Perhaps, I've been getting abit lucky as of recently... He almost had me..."
He spoke quietly, winded from the battle and soon after, going limp. Arms and legs rose at the mercy of the passing winds- He was falling from the skies he was summoned to with the power of supposed magus ability. However, his impact with the sandy soil was cushioned with more than raw beads of sand pillowing the rough and rugged earth beneath, but a sudden fabrication of the very same magic he took up practice prior-

He rested now, in psuedo-peace, stranded upon a mesa for the time being.
"...I should... Rest some. This little experiment has had enough test drives..."
(Vriskol Malpercius)