EREBOS

There was something about Oizys that spurned him on – incensed, provoked, needled, made him mull over ruthlessness and havoc rather than honor and glory. Perhaps because she had yet to barb him, laugh at his idiocy, or proclaim him a fool, he crawled into the specious whims of infidels and fiends. Maybe because she was larger and stronger than him, built from heavier lines and war-infused blood, that he saw a challenge, a provocation, sketched between their interactions. Despite her inexperience, he saw no reason to hold back, for down in the folds of his schemes and motivations, he knew they all wanted to convey what they were capable of.
 
The youth, who’d grown beneath shadows and monsters, wind, rain, and cold, only yearned to prove himself to the world. Look at my strength, he wanted to proclaim. Look at my might, he wanted to roar. Look at my tenacity, he wanted to howl.
 
Then get on with it, snarled Orsino, and the General tucked away the note of laughter rumbling through his chest; seized the moment across the stony floor, and watched as she came near.
 
The flicker of embers and light cast a foreboding, ominous edge to her movements, and while he hadn’t underestimated her potency, her lethality, her power, the blow was still a shock to his system. He’d chanced a moment to change course, to twist amongst their narrow corridor off to the right, but it hadn’t been enough. She crashed into him head-on, chest to chest, and the monumental pain searing through his skull caused a gasp to scorch through his lungs, blinding, white spots flashing before his eyes. He could hear Orsino shouting somewhere through their bond, a vicious roll of Hey, hey!, but the agony was too overwhelming, too overbearing, to respond.
 
Every bone, every filament, every fragment of his upper body seemed to hurt, pulse, pervade, filling his core with assaults and sieges, fortifications marred, blemished, and bruised beyond recognition. He tried to swallow the bits and pieces of pain flooding his mouth as he stumbled back into a wall, the shock, the awe, attempting to muffle his scream – but lord, it only served to remind him of the day he’d spent gouging monsters, the hours he’d spent ensuring his own demise.
 
She wasn’t Ashamin, but the haunting clarity was still the same.
 
I can’t go down like this, he proffered to Orsino, and the kitsune agreed wholeheartedly, hissing, growling – and the boy managed to twist back to the right again, slowly, escaping the main thrust of her horns (the lacerations were enough though, sizzling and taking off blue pelt, hide, portions of a prince, paltry but bloody just the same). He couldn’t stifle his second gasp as his left shoulder complained of his movements – and he was rankled, irritated, exasperated by the notion that this was how the whole thing had started. He hadn’t had a chance to prove himself at all before she’d slammed, rampaged, and obliterated one of his few advantages.
 
Show them, he thought again. I have to show them.
 
He was more than this weak, pathetic being. He was more than the General of the north, the little beast with ambitions and aspirations pounding through his soul. He was more than smiles, grins, and vengeance – and they’d see, they’d know, they’d understand when he was through with them.
 
So Erebos ground his teeth and ignored his body’s outcry, proceeding forward as he gave Orsino a feral, ferocious command. Her eyes, he orchestrated, demanded, a sudden contortion of ruthlessness (the son of the Reaper, losing his compassion amidst the decadence of battle), do something to her eyes. The kitsune, caustic and unrelenting, greedily obliged the request.
 
His uncanny magic flooded through the hall, antagonistic and infuriating, blinding, dazzling scorches of light beams, then shadow, all intending to pulse madly in her gaze, to distract, to impede, to ensure the warrior would have enough time to delve into his methods and madness.
 
The youth boiled and seared, a sinister wake, a belligerent heathen, intending to scrape past old wounds and collapsed hours beneath Ashamin’s wake. Not again, he ensured, thrusting his way towards her left side, infusing his horn with fire invocations and deadly ire, with fury and demolition, reaching for her barrel, her flank, in a seething swing of his sword. I won’t fall apart again.

[1/3. 728 words.
* Due to the critical hit, Erebos takes heavy, bruising damage to his chest and shoulders. He’s slowed down severely by the impact.
* Oizys manages to make several small cuts on the left side of his neck, leaving them bleeding and without some hide.
* Orsino attempts to use his dark illusions magic on Oizys by causing an almost strobe light effect, hoping to blind/distract and irritate her enough for Erebos to attack.
* Erebos tries to infuse his fire magic into his horn, hoping to cut along her left side (along her barrel and/or flank).]