Chaos and Battle - The introduction

The swamplands were the perfect place to test one's mettle. More importantly, there was an abundant land of mobile, angry, and reactive targets for Nicolette to try her gun against. The staff he carried with great pride is soon placed onto his back, the rifle taking priority, as both hands are necessary to wield the finely crafted bolt action rifle.

"I will spare you th un-necessary details; In order for you to properly aim and to ensure your occultic mana flows properly, you need to let go of your restraint. To Occultists, restricting your emotions is the path of depriving yourself of the full power you are capable of commanding. You do not lack hatred, as many occultists would foolishly tell you, but..."

There is a flare up to his presence, the dark magic at his command gradually growing in influence. The crellus that were yards away even felt it, turning around to take notice of Ishmael's brief display of occultic mastery. Once he reigns his emotions in, the crellus soon return to paying them no mind.

"Hate is one of the many components to cultivating your power. What you truly need to do is to bask in the darker spectrum of your emotions. Where there is love, let there be lust. Where there is peace, let there be war. Where there is mercy, let there be ruthless. Where there is tranquility let there be chaos. Where there is contentfulness, let there be greed."

He pauses his speech, readying the mana rifle in his hands, aiming down the sights until the barrel is leveld at the very top of the Crellus' skull. Without any hesitation, the priest takes a short inhale of air, before he fires.

BANG!

The occultic mana forms a magical bullet that pierces the crellus's skull. The corpse slumps over, dead before it had hit the ground. The barrel leaves behind residue of Ishmael's mana before he lowers the rifle, a smile formed on his face as his lavender gaze settles onto Nick.

"Remember when Dustin mocked you for being weak? Channel that memory and how it made you feel." The negativity would be Nicolette's guidance, as it is for Ishmael.
(Ishmael)

Nicolette listened to the fellow rather passively, and the behavior she had displayed before, when Ka'vas made an appearance...was strangely enough, not kicking in. She remained her confident and disinterested-looking self as words fell upon her ears.

Perhaps she considered Ishmael more of a peer, than a superior. Was it his race? The fact he fought over a piece of furniture with her? Hard to say...

"..I'm no fresh tube baby, man." came a comment, as she stood side by side with the ginger.


"Destruction's in my blood, the entry lesson can be spared."
(Nicolette Driscoll)

The priest turns his gaze onto Nick, frowning at the words spoken in reply to his instruction. His attention shifts onto Dustin, then back to the passive expression on Nicolette's face. The priest shakes his head, raising the rifle by the barrel, one hand gripping it as it is held, barrel vertical, facing towards the sky.

"You are weak, you are not my equal. To me, you're a babe that needs to be fed from the Strong. From those who provide the strength necessary for you to grow." He does not raise the barrel a second time, merely turning his gaze over to Nicolette.

Soon enough, she'd feel the wind pushing against her skin. Then, some pebbles bumping into her feet. But soon enough, the pressure began to build, as she'd feel as if something was pushing her. Magic was certainly at work here, as Nicolette's body warns her of the impending pain she'd so receive if she refused to move out of Ishmael's lavender sight.

"You are not focused."
(Ishmael)

 Even if different example was used in an attempt to bring forth negative emotion, his further commentary certainly did the job rather well.

Her brow twitched behind the orange shades of hers...remaining quiet. For now.

As she felt pressure againts her poor skin, that was a good mark to start moving for her. Circuitry activating, and the youthful lass darted forth to make some distance between herself and Ishmael!

And there it was, her aura properly flaring up with the urge for destruction quite appearant.

Flames ridden with sheer occult.


"I ain't see you provin' the shit you spouting, boyo!" came rather brave speech from the gal.
(Nicolette Driscoll)

There was a question of power, disobedience in the food chain. This was not something that Illaron nor his mother would tolerate, as the weak were expected to obey the strong. But first, Ishmael needed to prove the strength disparity between himself and Nicolette. His subtle, but obvious use of telekinesis saw too it that she'd dodge his telegraphed attempts at discipline.

But her aura was radiant, as expected. Unfortunately, he could not vocalize his pleasure in seeing the negative emotions sweep across Nicolette. Instead, he'd have to further cultivate that negative emotion, as his own bursts to life in response. Dark magic flows, ebbing from his being un-restrained. He was no Archon, nor was his magic as powerful as that of a higher tier Kaor, but it was still strong, suffocating, and rich with the various emotions he described. The tome by his hip is soon pulled free, to read a paragraph from his book.

"Through conflict, we evolve. But to breed conflict between the superior and the weak is not true conflict, but discipline. The stray sheep that dare divert course must be brought back into the fold. Lest they think themselves equals to their betters."

Slowly, he steps down, the rifle still in hand as he levels the barrel squarely upon Nicolette's chest. Without any hesitation, he planned to show the difference in strength. Despite his seeming lack of control over his emotions, he was not going to maim his fellow occultist.

That'd defeat the whole purpose of showing his might.
(Ishmael)

The disparity was just as he had imagined. Where her flames broiled against his body, his own magic flourished in response, rebuffing her magic's advances as he presses the attack. But his eyes remained focused onto her's, as the invisible force that was neither wind nor gravity came pressing her into the ground.

It was as if the Lifestream itself was attacking her.

Where ever Ishmael's gaze settled, so did the pressure. But soon enough, he relents his stare, so that she may rise up again.

"You will grow and you will become strong... But if, and only if..." He spoke up, reaffirming his sights as the rifle is once again brought up to his shoulder. A trigger discipline that was honed through his sparsely populated fights was sure to have Nicolette realize that he was more than just talk.

"You let your emotions run free. Don't hold back, don't catch yourself as you fall into your emotions... Hate me, hate Dustin and his mockery of you. Let the humiliation of being slammed into the dirt fuel your magic."

He soon prepares to fire again, to keep the thrill of combat going within his veins.
(Ishmael)

Nicolettes assault was reckless, and not particuairly well planned ahead, and yet she wasn't as foolish to completely forsake evasion againts the more telegraphed attacks.

As she had displayed her own unique talent, talent given to her by the procedure she underwent to ascend beyond an average human, so did Ishmael present his.

Her flaring of the occult promptly silenced by an unseen, unfelt force pushing her down to the ground, eluding a loud groan from the googled gal.

It wasn't her hatred to stirr from being beaten down, it was wounded pride.

Surely, a mere human couldn't be wielding her own magic better, could he?!

When his gaze relented, there was time for her to rise, and speechlessly resume her assault!
(Nicolette Driscoll)

Ishmael knew better than to underestimate an Accursed. His gaze remained steadfast, constantly pressuring Nicolette until the bitter end. The imbalance of power was still far too big a gap for her to overcome. But the ferocious, desperate power that was drawn from her being was enough to catch him by surprise.

The armor made from Adamantite was dented from the pressure of her power. The more wounded she was, the deadlier she became. The fact was enough to put a smile on his face, before his hand juts forward, a deep breath inhaled before the tide immediately shifted back into his favor.

Fire bursted from his form, scalding black flames that were guided by his telekinesis, to wrap itself around Nicolette until she could withstand the flames no longer. The pressure pushes upon her back, until she's slammed onto her stomach. The outstretched hand remains, as the priest soon carries the smoking barrel in one hand.

"Yes!" He shouted, fisting the dent in his armor, "You are like 'Them'! Like myself!" Nicolette wasn't any ordinary occultist, a fact that had brought a wide grin to his face. Dustin is forgotten in the intense, mock battle of power display. He soon strolls over, still holding onto Nicolette.

"Remember this moment." Those were the only words he'd say, as he proceeds to further stain Nicolette's pride by rolling her about the dirt, dragging her body across the mud, the plants, before she is inevitably brought before his boots.

"You will become a fine specimen for my God, for Illaron, your father." His boot is soon put onto the back of Nicolette's head, before he pushes down. Her face is caked in mud, before his magic and boot are soon removed from her.

"If you had no reason to hate me now, you do now."
(Ishmael)

Nicky's certainly something. Where there's a dumb mistake, there's a clever move right behind it. Where there's a particuairly weak attack, there's a blast comparable to what much stronger magi had as their peak.

Such instability and inconsistency certainly made her an opponent one shouldn't drop their guard around, but..the disparity in power was still undeniable.

When overwhelmed, grounded and left panting, Nicol grinded her teeth to the point where it was hard to wonder if she's chipping them.
(Nicolette Driscoll)

Once all was said and done, it was now time to let the lesson sink in, rather than continue the cultivation process. Soon enough, Nicolette is assisted to her feet by his own hand, his aura's boastful presence receding back into a subtle, giga demon presence. The lavender gaze does not relent, but there is no pressure applied.

"Dustin, I ask that you do not speak to anyone of the information revealed here, if you were paying attention, that is." Soon enough, his gaze jumps from Nico, to Dustin, then back to the girl.

"Yes... Yes... I can feel it. That hate you feel, that shattered pride broken over my knee... Good." There's a soft exhale from his lips, the presence of Nicolette's negativity was like silk to his skin. A hand drifts outwards, daring to touch Nick's skin. But, at the last second, his right hand is yanked back.

"I want you to think about what took place here today, Nick. Meditate on your thoughts, for we will meet again. Until such a time arises, you must learn to channel all that is wrong with the world into your own body." His hand reaches out a second time, the back of the palm gently caressing the mud from her face.

"We may continue your training further, unless you'd rather do so without my guidance... For now."
(Ishmael)

Even as she was helped up, silence continued. It was maddening to be taunted and berated as some youngling that had yet to learn to walk. Her magic was magnificent! Who was this guy, to say otherwise.

A discontent murrmur sounded with the googled lass, beffudled about being so leisurely lectured about things she knew well.

Even if her knowledge was barely superficial.
(Nicolette Driscoll)