Kaor Rescue 1/22

 Chroma would lock eyes on the Kaor Demon, the beast grinning as I saw the red haired swordsman once more. Time after time, he'd come to challenge him, dealing with not only his own pride in the matter, but also the fact that his existence irked him so.

Gritting his teeth, and squaring himself, sizing up the foul demon, Chroma would dash at him with a war-cry, barreling down to go and smite him with his new sword stance.

"What are YOU looking at you fugly batard?!!!?? Daddy's got new tricks, now COME AT ME!!!!!"

At first starting strong, and zipping around his hulking form, the beast would seem to eat all the massive damage inflicted upon it, roaring like some sort of hellish Goliath, to the young teen's David he'd unleh everything he had in order to put the thig down, but it's endurance proved mighty.

Slamming Chroma, he'd have to utilize distance to heal himself and stay out of the way of his overtly over powering swings. Calling the Storms of Hell down to banish the beast, he'd cleave away with his axe like a mad-man, but with precision, and forceful blows he slowly widdled away at him.

The Kaor would then unleash a humungous blow, as he'd slam his hoof down directly upon Chroma, unable to recover quick enough, all he could do was brace for imminent impact feeling his life-force being taken and his very soul nearly leave his body. A grievous and nearly mortal blow had left the teen bleeding as he'd been impaled in the side be a stalagmite.

In a fit of pure, untamed wrath though, he'd let out a guttural scream, overcharging his body with darkness and lighting, mixing in together to form that same Hellstorm that he'd been attempting to master prior. Pulling himself from his stoned stake, and then dashing with the might of all his pent up aggression and training, striking like a master of the craft, fueled by his own spite.

After a hellish combo of his own, he'd dash past with the visage of a dragon behind him as the demon too charged, falling to a knee, though as the mongrel turned around he'd release a deathly growl, as his body fell bisected to the dirt and the panting Chroma would crack a tired smile, coughing up a heap of blood and then rising back up.

Though from his peripheral he'd notice yet another demon, immobile from his other fight he'd lie there virtually helpless and seeing his life flash before his eyes...but then he'd see a Greatsword swing past, and engaging with the new Archdemon he'd recognize a familiar face.

Artaghh had also stepped into the mines and been manhandling the Kaor with minimal effort in comparison to Chroma, stunned and rising up weakly, he'd force himself to join alongside the man until Artaghh the Bald had fully rended it's life from it's body. The weakened injured,and exhausted Boy would give him a pat on the shoulder before pouring a bit of vodka in his wounds to clean them.

"NNGH!!!! Gagh….t-thanks Artaghh….that second one got the damn drop on me..."

(Chroma Zanders)
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[04:56] Artagh knew what had to be done as he paced into the darkness of the caves, great sword leaned over his shoulder with a determined nod as he searched the depths of the great chasm for his chosen quarry. The rematch with the vampire on his lonesome had given him much to think about, much to contemplate. Though he was a step above and beyond many of his peers in swordplay and physical might, and could even match the Sarradian magics of Siro with sheer force of will, he was still a single drop of water in a great ocean of overwhelmingly powerful beings. The elder Oscuri, the vampires, ancient Lady Cho and her dark council, so many clear examples of how far Artagh needed to go if he was going to be the greatest swordsman there ever was.

Today, the soldier knew his training could not be the common sort. His training regimen certainly aided in building his musculature if the two trunks of solid muscle emanating from each arm hole of his mithril cuirass were any disclaimer, but all the muscle in the world wouldn't make Artagh a master swordsman. He needed combat experience, greater and greater foes to face in battle and defeat or be defeated by. Each true battle he fought brought the peasant closer and closer to his goal, pushed his limits further than before and brought him that much closer to his dream.

Pacing into the final, pitch black cavern of the caves that Artagh had grown to know quite well, the peasant soldier would gaze into the abyss only to see young Chroma sitting on the ground beside a dead Kaor demon, seemingly heavily wounded and yet victorious. He seemed alive at the least, but not in the finest shape. Good on him, pushing one's self into near death experiences was what made a man a man, and Artagh had arrived to hunt the very same type of creature. The mighty Kaor, the apex predator of the caves, and the first great challenge Artagh had ever encountered but two years ago when he'd first joined the legion.

Waving in greeting, Artagh would move quickly for his blade as out of the darkness, the shadows would shift and warp, two glowing red eyes towering fifteen feet high moving closer and closer towards the wounded Chroma with the heavy stamps of its feet. He had seconds to act as the great beast came into view towards the smoldering aura of Chroma, the dying embers of his energy a beacon of light to any monster that trailed the deepest depths of the caves. Sprinting forward without any care for the aspect of surprise or his own personal safety, the bald warrior would leap upwards with a great slash, slamming his great sword directly into the Kaor's torso as it howled a fell, ear splitting roar, placing his armored person between the demon and the injured warrior. "Now what're ye' doin'ta tha' lad? Can' ye' see he's busy sittin' on the groun'? Nae ye' worry demon, ye' face Artagh o'ta Green Hill now."

The battle was on. It was so much different from his hunt with Siro a year prior, when he'd been but a barely green soldier with a chip on his shoulder and no real sense of battle. That Artagh died with his pledge, the day he had spoken before his friends and the heavens that he would be the greatest swordsman there ever was. As the fifteen feet of fell muscle brought down a hammering series of blows upon Artagh, he would hold his ground and grit his teeth, absorbing the kinetic strikes of the demonic blows like a wall of granite as he pressed on against the beast. Though it was larger than Artagh three fold, that just made it a bigger target, and the bald swordsman was nothing if not pragmatic. Hacking away with progressive, slow, mighty chops of his steel great sword, Artagh would drive his way through the sickeningly thick skin of the great monster's knees, chopping away at whatever muscle and nerves he could reach as he waited for his opportunity.

The Kaor gave as much as it got, and these were its fell caves the soldier had invaded to seek out his training. With the fury of a broodmother defending their nesting grounds, each sickening smack, punch, and slam from the Kaor rattled and cracked Artaghh's bones, tearing muscle and causing the bald swordsman to cough out globs of blood in agonized pain as he felt his ribs crack from the sheer, demonic might of the great beast's swings. He knew then that there was a reason these were considered the apex of the demon form, for each slam brought Artaghh closer to submission and breaking down by the sheer concussive force of the strikes. Though his cuts were minor, Artaghh's internal injuries were bleeding him steadily, fueling the shroud of pulsating mana around him as his muscles strained and bulged with concentrated mana and power, the strange symbiotic affect the shroud had on Artaghh's physical might when he was in danger.

And that's when Chroma gave him his chance. Regaining his vigor, the lad fired a blast of flame that spurred the beast's attention away from Artagh for just a moment. All the time he needed. With a swift lunge through the beast's legs, Artagh scream in furious rage as he thrusted his great sword into the back of the beast's leg, putting his shoulders and all his might into a fiercesome stab as the blue flames of his shroud of energy lit up the dim cave like a glowing sun. As the beast stumbled with its weak leg, Artagh would roar as he slammed the blade's tip downwards at the flesh right above the mighty Kaor's foot, pinning it to the ground before slamming his shoulder into the leg.

With vigorously torn muscle fibers and a critically injured leg, the towering demon went tumbling down to the ground, falling face first into the dirt as it seemed to try to reconcile its own titanic mass with the structural integrity of its maimed leg. Leaping on to thedemon's back, Artagh would shakily regain his balance before leaping upwards in a blue flame of energy, silent and determined as he brought down the great weight of his blade right on top of the back of the Kaor's neck, severing the head in a spurt of demonic ichor and the death throes of the great beast.

"Good huntin', aye young Chroma?"



(Artaghh)