Defying Friction

The Archon made his way to the place of no disturbance, all to ensure that his next practice and attempt to hone his skill would not go bothered by the matters of those that live in Aetherius.

Frustration. That was the word to describe his current state. Not only it was troublesome to stay in Aetherius due to constant barrage of irrelevant requests, but he yet failed to grasp the ability to control- and by extension, appropriately use- the stream of speed, one that he was desperately working on. But he didn't plan to give up on that practice just yet.

He needed to reflect, to think back. What is it that made him so fast against foes such as Noxim, Sibri or Karma? There -had- to be at least some explanation to that. And while he could oft reason it with the brief outburst of magic, of his inner strength, that was not a satisfying answer.

A brush of a wind caressed his hair, flipping it just behind his shoulders; his pair of crimson eyes slowly turned to observe that lock of hair frivolously hanging about and subjecting itself to the nature of wind, and a thought struck Zaruma's mind.

That's it. The wind.

He was the Ventus Demon, after all, the embodiment of Wind itself. How could he not guess that previously? Those outbursts of magic had to be controlled better, and now that such thought appeared inside his mind, he had an idea to accompany such revelation.
(Zaruma)

His eyes were closed.

He had to look deep into one's core, to understand that this body, this physical shell he wears - it was something more than just a projection of his soul, of his power, it was the embodiment of the very element that he represents.

Now, how to use that?

With such ideas traversing his mind, he opened his eyes to gaze down at his hands, if only to bend the winds to his will - unlike the usual bending, which he'd often use to surround himself in the deadly shroud of Mournegale, this time around he decided to coat himself in a graceful, smooth pattern of the breeze, one that only grew in size and potency as time went on.

Something to remove the wind resistance entirely. How could he not guess it earlier - friction, that's the problem. That's why he burned in his earlier attempts to seize this ability of speed.

Bringing himself forth from the ground to float above, the Archon's eyes were narrowed. This was a tricky thing to do - he had to adjust to something he could not see, something he could only hear and feel.

The wind that graces this very land.

Feeling it brush upon his skin, Zaruma made effort to carefully attune himself to it, and adjust the shell of the winds that surrounded him accordingly; they were made to mostly match the pressure of the atmosphere, slowly and steadily, all while the wind was only boosting his movement from behind.

To defy the air resistance and to boost one's speed. That ought to work, right?
(Zaruma)

The flight was going smooth.

Indeed, Zaruma was going faster as the time went on; with the shroud of wind surrounding him to nullify any air resistance and reduce friction, up to the point that it would be nullified as well, the boosting of the winds from behind much akin to thrusters was working out well.

But certainly, it took practice. Despite such freedom to fly in the air at will, the Archon carefully paid attention to every single detail, all in attempts to defy the common speed possible. After all, during his fights with the powerful foes, he somehow surpassed his possible speed, even if for a moment.

To become one with wind, and merge himself entirely. That was the goal.

In order to bend such ability to a proper extent, one had to believe themselves born naturally for it; he could not allow even a single thought in his mind that he was merely speeding himself up with the winds he used so often, that it was merely calculated move to remove the friction, no--

He had to believe, and he had to focus. To be able to move like wind, one must become it.

Yet, the speed that he already achieved, it was already remarkable. Almost blinking through correspondence, almost seemingly teleporting for short distances due to him moving so fast, the Archon did not intend to stop.

Such speed was addicting, if anything.
(Zaruma)

Once the previous limit was defied, inevitably, Zaruma began to feel exhaustion, and the odd feeling settling in. Something akin to becoming lighter, much like a feather that only dashed through the wind due to it's minimal weight.

Within that shell of tempest, he gazed down at his hands, and Zaruma was in for surprise - his hands were almost becoming transparent, merging with the essence of the wind. Did it hurt, or did it prove to provide any physical restrictions to him? Not at all.

But with that feathery weight, the Archon realized - he could not control his direction anymore. He was fast, he defied distance with ease, but there was no control. Something that he could not grasp, not yet.

Immediately, Zaruma began to gradually reduce the wind shell around him, only to return the friction to his body - and with that, remove the ability to keep moving so fast. It came to a halt, and the tone of his hands returned to normal.

'Perhaps this is the only way to move so fast, then.'

It was certainly a thought to memorize. It was a breakthrough, for all intents and purposes the speed he wished for so much was achieved, but for now? He was exhausted, and had no clue how to control it, yet.

Practice was to be had. Floating down to the ground, he set his feet, deciding to walk towards Aetherius once in a while instead of flying.

He's had enough of that for today.
(Zaruma)