Rikyn

The summer that has stolen the emerald vibrancy of Helovia drove me north, to hide in the cool mountain passes from the Sun’s scalding rampage across the heavens. Irritation at the heat, and boredom at the lack of anything to do also drove me to a sudden, emotionally fueled decision upon sight of a dark, familiar mare. Sialia, her blue embellishments making her stand out even more than her dark coat does, became the object of what I truly considered to be a game; as I prowled along after her, I’d settled on trying to take the shining pendant around her neck; a real life application of all the things I’d been practicing. Into the shadowy edges of the world I’d slunk, hooves carefully placed on soft earth with gentle patience, my buck following behind me, curious as to what we’re doing.

He doesn’t get to find out.

My name rings through the mountainside, a familiar boom sounding its syllables. Disbelief lines my face as I look back to see the Reaper, a man I’d called kin, a good man, casting ignorant words in my face. My mother taught me better than this? What had she taught me other than to do for yourself, because others would leave, others would chose themselves? That others would, as he did now, betray my trust in them?

There is no room in his assault for any verbal defense on my behalf; I have time to turn and face him, golden eyes wide with pleading surprise. I was only practicing! I didn’t even take it! and I wouldn’t have hurt her! all lay at the tip of my tongue, swallowed down as his intent to use violence becomes clear in a sudden bloom of flames; the first ball narrowly flies by me, radiating enough ambient heat to send the free fringes of my dreaded mane aflutter. Duir darts away to hide in a nearby evergreen copse, gathering (mostly) from the magic pelting through the air that it would be unwise to linger here, and I try to sort out a thousand things in a matter of milliseconds. More poignant than the dull ache of sadness inspired by Deimos’ condemnation, fear rises in my chest, prior trauma flaring to mind at the sight and scent of fire.

Like alkali metals into water, my arrogance, bad mood, and fear blend into one catastrophic explosion; anger rises like a mushroom cloud, and I’m no longer frozen in place. I charge to meet him, as I’ve met every other opponent in my life, even those that might have killed me, stronger men, legends, and Gods…

I’d never thought it would be Deimos I’d have to defend my honor against, my history being a part of his own. He was not the great General I had always dreamed of defeating, though he was certainly experienced, and likely stronger, and more thick skinned than me for it.

The second ball of fire bursts against the bronze metal lining my left shoulder as I run at him, the metal hot and uncomfortable against my skin; embers spray about the impact, sizzling through my coat and skin before being quenched by my sweat, leaving a smattering of small burns around the protective bronze plate. The last collides with my chest, my chin thrown upwards to defend my face as a shout of pain breaks the air; the heat sears the flesh away almost immediately, clear fluids and blood trickling through the crisped skin. As it’s been every time I’ve met with fire, tears brim in my eyes; I force my blurred focus to remain on the Reaper, even when Duir’s piteous distress almost screams through our mental bond.

It’s agony as I charge, bidding the cooked, reeking flesh to stretch, and I’m not as fast as I should be; I refuse to let it dishearten me, however, using the sharp pain of each stride to fuel my desire to reciprocate. Into myself I reach, grabbing hold of the Spark I wield; trying to not sacrifice any of my already diminished speed, I hurl the magic at him with every ounce of willpower I have as the space between us grows short. Having no time to alter my course if it doesn’t work, I’m left with only the hope he’s left staggering, a victim to my magic. I angle towards his left side, where the rocky debris of the mountains seems lesser, and the shoulder nearest him is covered with armor. My gold tipped blade reaches out for his left in a swift motion, without any of the restraint I show friends; the glinting tip is angled to sever and slice. Not waiting to see if the strike is true, I dart rightward, hoping my greater speed allows me to pull away.

[ 1/4 :: 799 words ]
Uses this magic:
:: [ Magic: DarkxSpark | The ability to short circuit the electrical impulses of an opponent's brain, causing temporary loss of control over their physical responses. ]
:: [ Restrictions | Lasts 20 seconds in battle. ]