New Face of Valmasia

To wield such power, to understand that you have the strength to wipe off entire armies off the face of the Eternia, to acknowledge the fact that you can raze entire towns and even cities... it's an addicting thought. It's something that Arthur would need to reflect upon, but he did not hesitate to actually think about.

There's a darker craving, a desire in him- not only for power, but even when he holds her too. It is something that makes him draw a smile on his face, even as he stood under the rain with her that was dissipating. It's the knowledge of just how much she values him, how much she looks up to him, and how much he enjoys her presence, it was something invigorating.

And obviously, her attempt to shrug him off was denied.

She was taken in his arms regardless, her form taken by a young man who still had the strength to spare in him, perhaps even for the two at the moment. As much as she was physically stronger than he is, she was fairly worn out after such a fight--

-- and as a sly one that he is, of course he took the opportunity.

"It's okay. You will manage to do it too. I believe in you."

A silent mutter spilled in her ear. Maybe it was to encourage her, or did he genuinely believe in her? Who knows. At least, it did sound honest from him.

"Gehenna is indeed against us. The war is brewing, and it will come, eventually. Right now, Agartha is just a large box of explosives, just waiting to go off."

"And it's only a matter of time until someone lights the match."
(Arthur Rowan)

She wonders how she'll become when faced with such a power? To believe that she might be able to crush an entire city with the wave of nothing more than a mere hand. To believe that she has the power to create massive waves and arcs of fire with the swing of a simple limb...It is something that she could only fathom in respond. But in the end, this darker craving is not something that he holds alone. Together, in solidarity, is she faced with this enticing vice. The want to grow stronger, the vague hope interwoven within his tight embrace..

 The soothing rain only lets brings remembrance of the ashes that he holds her over. Those that have fought upon this soil, died for what they believed is right. And only then, does she truly feel as if she is safe from their fates. Because he holds her in this manner..Because he holds her above the death and despair and promises to rise once again..

"And if I don't?

 The small smile upon her features slowly turned into a smug smile. Laughter stifled upon his shoulder in thought. "I might prefer to be useless." A mere jest, although, even she knows that there is more that she can do. Regardless of the situation though, she simply nods...

 "And the explosives-...I think that it'll happen soon. And it will start with Ikkaku's rebellion, that, I'm certain of.."
(Bei Bei)

It's fascinating how much a simple thing like this can pre-occupy your mind.

But he didn't let his thoughts wander for too long. While in his arms, there was a single brush of his hand ran along her cheek, almost as if to feel how she feels right now- inquisitively, his scarlet eyes traced along her tone, as if he was checking up on her. Was he that much concerned? That's likely the case. Despite her request to show his real might to her, he still didn't wish to hurt her.

Ever.

Whether such wish would be fulfilled only remains to be seen. Fate is a cruel mistress, and as much as he'd like to think that they would always stay this way, the relationship of the two could change any instant when something goes wrong.

Just like Agartha itself.

"You will. You're not useless, not by a long shot. Besides... don't think that I will actually let you remain useless. Even if something vile overcomes you, I will be there to pull your weight too."

There was a curve of his lips into a smirk at the smugness and laughter that he was offered, and with a pause, he continued to speak.

"Ikkaku's rebellion already seeks to target us."

"We'll wait for him to come to us. By then, I will be stronger. Perhaps even strong enough to put an end to him."
(Arthur Rowan)

At the sidelines, a curious shape lingers to watch the two ahead. Cold, ice-blue eyes scrutinize the redheaded mage and the shadowflame-swathed brunette with curiosity and anticipation: 'Is this a spar?', he wondered.

His was a striking figure. Bare and silken-smooth, pearlescent thighs were bared under the scant cover of the androgyne's skirt, one crossing over the other as he idles and listens to the two young mages ahead. They were young- just adolescents, by the look of it- but already, they were armed with weapons of war and armed for the coming rebellion...

Dainty, slender arms cross over Saruin's chest. The Neries wore a woman's armor - and had a slight, effeminate figure. He would've looked graceful if not for the look of age on his face: laugh-lines that didn't look so cheery creased his cheeks, while a jaded and dour look hangs over his eyes. Only a mild glint of interest shows in their glacial hues.

A pale tongue smears-over his lower lip, before one high-heeled boot steps forward... "Pardon my interrupting, but..." Begins the ambiguously gendered male, in a high yet velvety voice. "... Ikkaku has been to war for over a decade. Just training a little and mustering your courage won't be enough to save your lives." Begins the Neries, who directs a black-nailed index finger in an accusatory point between the two mages.

He's got a suddenly morose and intense expression on, as if to challenge them both... "You must give of yourself, and sacrifice what is dear: what more are you doing to prepare yourselves-?" He asks, with a troubled interest in what the young mages of tomorrow's New Valmasia were doing to prepare themselves for the Wars of Agartha.
(Saruin Aradel)


"That's dangerous, you know." Promising to pull someone's weight without knowing what might be burdening them. In any case, it was a death sentence that he might even be willing to carry for himself- but one, in which, she most certainly would not allow. He knew that her mere jest was not something that she would allow to occur- after all, becoming entirely useless meant that she would be dead in the eyes of those that she loves the most. And inaction?- it is not something that she would ever think to do. But nevertheless, the young girl just merely laughs.

"If that's the case though, I'll be sure to make it as little as possible. But you seem to be fine with carrying me as of now." Although his eyes drift over her form, the pain that she feels?- is more than just skin deep. Regardless though, her free hand would rise, lightly patting his shoulder.

I'm fine.

 Although it is not spoken verbally, the look that she gives him says so. In the end.. "If there's one thing I know is that...If he couldn't handle Rea and I in the past, then he won't be able to handle us both in the future." She has fought Ikkaku before...Survived to live the tale, even if he weren't aiming to 'kill' them...The damage that he had done was still present.

 However..

 "We've been through a lot of things already sir." She says softly. "We know that these people have been in a lot of wars- but with time, also comes change." the young girl says. "There's a saying that often comes about...And I don't mean to disrespect but.." She says, trailing off-..

 "Out with the old, in with the new. Ikkaku may be strong as of now, but time is his greatest enemy. And time...Time is something that we both have to grow and become better, stonger- even." She doesn't doubt herself...No, she could not.

 "I'm ready to sacrifice what I need to in order to win." Because winning means life within this world.
(Bei Bei)

It's not something he accepted.

Knowing that she refused his help, or any of his aid like that was somewhat concerning, feeding a belief that at some point she may simply fall, being unable to keep up with him, but-- he could understand why exactly she said that. Perhaps it was because she was attached that much that she couldn't allow herself to drag him down, or because her pride would be stung.

But eitherway, it's not something he would insist on.

"I understand. I... won't pressure you into it. But I'll be still there to help you, should you ever need it."

Such sweet words. It's a wonder how much people change from this sort of sweetness during their younger age, and just how much more cruel they become as they age. It is perhaps life that wears everyone down like that eventually, or it could be the human nature of everyone's heart that makes them fall.

And it was inevitable.

Yet, there was a Neries. The one that looked quite effeminate, which made Arthur arch his brow, at best- it was quickly disregarded, if only to follow up by other words.

"I've learnt to sacrifice many things, Neries."

Immediately, the winds howled around him, the sparkles of electricity coursed through his body. Despite holding Bei in his arms, she was safe- thanks to the Cognitive practice of his magic, the precision was nigh perfect.

And the power of Storm was present to Saruin immediately.

"Even in my young age, I already managed to grasp a complicated technique like this."

"I was born to resurrect Valmasia, and lead it to greatness. I aim to fulfil that goal."
(Arthur Rowan)

He listens to them both, intently- but in each of them Saruin detects a stubbornness. In the brunette's case... it's a passive, enduring kind. But in the redhead's case, it was an aggressive and literally electric refusal to the horned one's challenge- a sight which brings a small, thin smirk to the black-lipped gunman's androgynous visage.

His head lowers in a slow, deep nod- more towards Arthur than Bei Bei. "She is right. Old mages on all sides are dying one-by-one, to be replaced by young mages like you two..."  He spoke- his right hand raised over one shoulder to grip the stock of his shotgun and level it forwards with a dull, heavy swish of enchanted but corroded metal.

It was an interesting piece: damaged, but repaired- numerous welds showed along the heavy gun's dual barrels, the lengths of which glow to life with rings of black-purple mana etched into them. "I watched Avalon burn as a boy- I fought since then to revive Valmasia, too. But it's hard. Harder than you can know, being so young." Chides the horned androgyne, while bitterness and fondness for the young storm-mage mix in his tone.

It had yet to be determined if he could respect them, no matter what techniques they had mastered- to Saruin, Arthur was just a boy. "But I know Valmasia's enemies are hardened and skilled- they live a dire, dogged life, motivated only by the desire to kill us and annihilate our religion- whether you pray to Azrael, or to my Dreamer..." He continues, almost too long-winded. There's a sudden click of metal as he levels his shotgun forwards- its barrels steadied towards Arthur.

There's a look of jaded excitement on his face, as he now formally issues his challenge: "If you can't defeat me, then you're only unworthy! Allow me to test you, youngling."
(Saruin Aradel)

In a way, he read their personalities- perhaps, without necessarily meaning to do so. And although she could be seen as 'fiery' in most moments, when dealing with Arthur, she assumes a strange role of passiveness. And perhaps, it is because she feels that the two would 'clash' moreso than anything else. Either way, his own aggressive nature was something that she had enjoyed. Especially, when he issues challenges to those who are unsuspecting. Nevertheless though, the young girl's hands would raise carefully, framing the features of the Rowan as she speaks.

"We are the future." The decadence is found within the swiveling occultism that echoes from her being. "And because we are the future, it is only inevitable that people like Ikkaku will fade...They may attempt to do all that they please...They may even gather all the power that they want. But just like Tragedy, who people thought was unstoppable...We a lot of our own people depended upon...They too, can fall." She adds, nodding slightly- pressing her lips against the cheek of the Rowan as if 'asking' to be let down.

"I'm uncertain as to who you are- but please, do not underestimate us. We may be young, but we're all stronger than what we look like." There's something about this generation that many cannot put their finger on. And maybe...It's because of their own growth.

 How frightening.

 "They've been trying to kill us for a long time now...And each time, we get stronger and stronger." She says, giving the Aradel a Cheshire grin. "I say let them come." The Bei isn't scared at all.
(Bei Bei)

She was not scared, and he wasn't either.

The issue of a challenge? It was not an uncommon thing for Arthur. By now, he's grown used to the fact that many people have tried to test his mettle, for one reason or another- but just because it was yet another challenge issued, didn't mean that he would not accept it.

The scarlet hues of Valmasian turned towards him, inquisitively inspecting the Neries. For as much as he was older, there was still that bold confidence in his heart that dictated he would be able to actually best him. It is the said confidence that he would never let go of, the same confidence that pushed him so far to become what he is today.

And that's the taste Saruin would have today.

"You're on."

The storm was quick to announce its roar, and upon his command, the skies have turned black with myriad clouds gathering. The thunder was present too, and with the outstretched wind up to the sky, he let go of Bei at last- if only for his gaze to turn entirely upon his opponent.

Winds were howling, lightning was circling in the sky, and humidity was rising. Soon enough, the rain started pouring, and much like the blood menace that he is, Arthur stood prepared under the rain, letting his red locks get soaked.

"You'll see for yourself just how strong the youth can be."
(Arthur Rowan)

The Storm was gathering.

Even though he grasped the magic of the Storm at this stage, it wasn't a good thing to let go of gathering any further assistance for himself in the fight- doubtless that Saruin was fairly powerful, as someone of his age simply cannot be in possession of small power. Right?

Inevitably, the winds picked the Rowan up, and with his scarlet hues pointed down at the Neries while he remained in the air, the lightning struck down against his palms, gathering the might of the Storm. It was then that Saruin would feel the weather itself playing a card against him- small ponds of water forming around him were attractive to lightning from the skies, much like as if it were lightning rods--

-- and he stood next to them. Something had to be done to prevent being struck.

Accelerating to the point of almost being shredding, the winds were heavily blowing against Saruin's face. Arthur was the embodiment of the storm, its elemental fury, its representative - and it's something that the Neries would need to deal with.

"Do not hold back."
(Arthur Rowan)

He liked the boy's cold resolve, as they answered his challenge. But the horned summoner didn't like the sense of self-assuredness about the redhead... whether real or imagined entirely by Saruin, he perceived a complacent arrogance in him that could well be the young Valmasian's own undoing. He had to teach him a lesson.

Dark gouts of wispy, trailing dark ether billows off the androgyne's body in sickly strands akin to spider's silk... distorted glints and twinkles of stolen star-mana shine in his exhumed shades, streams of Deep mana drawn from the Dreamer's realm.

He pops-open the barrels of his shotgun with a steely thud before loading Demon larvae into them, the squirming fiend-worms squishing with loud *crunches* and a trickle of foul purple blood from Saruin's loaded gunwhen he snaps it shut again.

The horned gunman's head nods to Arthur, to his bid... "Aye, I won't." He assures, with a somehow sinister twinge of his glossy black lips. All the while- great black silhouettes loom-outward from Saruin's aura of astral darkness, coalescing into half-rotted Demon carcasses that stir to a stolen life and grow rapidly into fully-formed insectoid fiends: dozens of them, each the size of men...!

And all at once- they sprint towards Arthur, while the sound of a loud BANG releases a shower of shadow-shrapnel and Occult parasites through the air as a hail of cursed bullets!
(Saruin Aradel)

The Storm was unforgiving.

Combined with hemonancy that Arthur employed, the lock up of the joints for the Neries was oft followed by excruciatingly powerful assault, one that was easily overpowering in terms of its strength; a whip after another, if only to blast him for the water, and lightning to follow up.

And oh boy, was there a lot of lightning.

Taking every possible turn to inflict the pain from electricity that Arthur wielded, and every single turn to aim the shredding winds against him, it became quickly apparent that the Neries may, in fact, underestimated Arthur initially- or perhaps, the redhead was just that talented.

Eitherway, his power could not be denied, even at such young age.

"Are you certain you're not holding back?"

The thunder roared with the mocking gesture addressed to Saruin. Obviously, Arthur was prideful- there's no way someone like him won't take joy and pride in the fact that he was so successful at this age already. It's a remarkable feat, after all.

"Your shields, your minions, your magics- it cannot stop my thunder."

The lightning crackled, and the winds howled once more. The rain poured intensively, and the fight was not over.

Yet.
(Arthur Rowan)

Saruin's technique was underhanded: Demons beset Rowan at all sides, while the gunman fires a hail of Occult shards at him in showers of dark obsidian...

But, the Neries' cold blue eyes widen with surprise: Arthur eluded his assault on all fronts, and soon counters with flurries of chained lightning and storming thunder-claps that blast asunder Saruin's summoned demon-insects!

With a brilliant flash and the loud rumble of thunder, Saruin is forced back in an explosive furor of pure lightning, leaving the Neries scuffed- and forced to a knee...

He grits his teeth, one cheek singed burnt-black by Arthur's overwhelming lightning. "Hrgh- … it's too soon to brag!" Replies the horned androgyne with a bitter snarl, before drawing a hold-out pistol from one of his boots and firing a round from the small revolver towards Arthur- a black-puple bullet of pure Occult ether.

But all the while, Saruin pulses with a surge of dark ether, pouring-out his mana into a great swarm of spawning demons... gurgling forth from his shadow as if it were a spawning pool of corrupted tar, a huge swarm of black locusts buzzes-forth- all descending in a huge cloud of pestilence as if to try and bury the storm-mage in their bodies!
(Saruin Aradel)

The fight was nearing its end.

Now it was becoming apparent that the Neries has underestimated the strength of the young Valmasian, and for all that he's been fighting his best, it simply was not enough. The Storm prevailed once more, and Saruin was to suffer it now.

Choosing to be a close range combatant as always, despite the constant flood of lightning upon the ground from the skies and the torrents of shredding winds that reaped through this land, Arthur was bold enough to openly assault the Neries right next to him, and shock him with lightning on its own.

Within a single moment, the Neries was locked in a single place by the terrifying art of Hemomancy that he was in possession of, if only to be lifted up in the air next to Arthur- the winds that constantly rushed all around them have been further cutting him up like a preparation of a meal for the predator, if only to soak him in blood and water--

-- both that of his own, and Arthur's too.

He never shied away from such, and that was probably the most intimidating thing about Arthur. There were no limits he would hesitate to step over, no boundaries that he would not break, just to secure his victory. And now, Saruin would experience it first hand.

Striking him from the skies, and directly from Arthur's palm, the torrent of lightning was made to run through his body once more, all while he was suspended in mid air- it was much akin to a Storm prison, one where he simply could not escape and was tortured to horrible extents.

Luckily, it did not last long, and Saruin was quickly released, the skies no longer raging against him. Arthur flew down to the ground, exclaiming.

"What do you think now?"

"Am I still not worthy to you?"
(Arthur Rowan)

He used his clouds of underworld locusts as blustering decoys, their foul bodies sent-down on Arthur like a rain of pulpy, crunchy hail descending with filth and accursed tar. And each time the demons fell on the redhead- Saruin's weapon fires with a shrieking howl and a deafening boom, but louder still was the cry of Athur's thunder...

The storm swept-up his insects in a torrent of cleansing destruction. White lightning purges their awful, misshapen bodies, their rotted purple blood incinerated by torrents of clawing lightning before it could ever sully Arthur's body- or even so much as splatter a drop across his clothes, though blood would certainly touch upon them both.

Saruin's quicksilver-white blood arrest in his veins, whole blood vessels throbbing with tension and unnatural paralysis where he stands...! His legs fail to budge, his brain swimming on hazy exhaustion... "What- is this...!?" He growls-out, as Arthur's scathing winds tear-open innumerable little cuts across Saruin's pearlescent, smooth skin. It's soon made jagged and torn by many lacerations.

Almost as if to answer him, a powerful bolt of condensed and sharply bent lightning thunders-forth with all the fury of a perfect storm, blasting-asunder the last of Saruin's mangled demon-swarm and imprisoning him in a cage of twisting, fluctuating lightning, bound in a completely controlled flux around him to course his nerves and scour the horned gunman's every ounce of flesh in electric torment...

He quivers- his whole body trembling as if in a seizure, while brilliant lightning flashes about him in deadly swells of pale-white and lethal electric blue, white foam frothing at his mouth while his eyes roll back asynchronously into their sockets.

… -and to answer Arthur's question, there's only the languid descent of Saruin's slashed-and-burned body to sway forward before descending gracelessly on the grass with a shallow thump, his limbs limp yet twitching with visible pulses of lingering electricity that jolt across his flesh and armor alike.

It's a mercy to him that his charred face is buried in the dirt, his insensate and unconscious expression brought low into the ground.
(Saruin Aradel)

Ah, the satisfying sound of victory.

This array of sounds, that of purging his minions, that of crackling his lightning against the Neries, his surprised tone and the shallow thump in the end- it was a signature of his victory, one in which there was no doubt on who truly stood victorious.

His magic? The appearance of signature. The blood? The ink to draw it.

With the rain drops dripping down his red locks, his clothing and his hands, the voltage in his palms finally began to subside. The fighting was obviously over, and he saw no further need to actually draw upon the power of the Storm- with a single draw of his hand up in the sky, the winds were gathered back to him, their condensing factor removed, and the interaction between cold and hot winds nullified. That's how the Storms were formed, combined with humidity, which also began to slowly dry up.

Choosing to lower himself on the ground, there was a tiny smirk hidden upon his face, seeing the Neries on the ground like that. It was the pride taken in yet another victory, in yet another achievement of his.

"I will take that as a yes."

Yet, seeing how Saruin was moveless, Arthur chose to move over, if only to shake him up- his hand has fallen over Saruin's face, nudging him after lifting it slightly so it's no longer in the mud, and bothering him with a splash of water generated by his magic.

"Wake up. It's over."
(Arthur Rowan)