A roar split the air.
Then—
Silence.
Dust drifted over the ground, whispering as it fell.
For a moment, the camp was still.
Then the silence shattered.
A shockwave burst outward—a ring of pressure that scooped the dust from the earth and hurled it skyward.
The cloud curled inward like a breaking wave.
Two silhouettes collided at its heart.
Metal met wood.
KLANG!
TONG!
CRUCK!
Sound flooded back; violence claimed the air.
The curved blade struck fast and vicious. Arion felt the first impact travel up Recall's length and into his forearms, forcing him to plant his back foot deeper as rain began to patter down, turning dust to mud beneath his boots.
His weapon never seemed to stop moving; every missed cut rolled straight into the next angle of attack.
Arion gave ground by choice, not weakness. He fought on measured distance, sweeping arcs, precise rhythm, and surgical counters. Each step back was calculated, boots sliding slightly in the fresh mud before he reset his weight. It felt like a dance fought on a knife-edge.
He spun Recall in blinding flashes, snapping her through every angle to parry and redirect, feeling the rhythm of his opponent, one collision after another. The clashes sent vibrations through his grip, raindrops already mixing with the sweat on his palms making the staff slicker with each block.
Karlon was no brute. The blade moved like it had already chosen its path. It was beyond grip or habit. The two moved with the ease of something long-bound.
The earth quaked beneath their feet, yet the two moved as if the rest of the camp had fallen away—the surrounding chaos of toppling tents, scattering embers, and fleeing shadows reduced to distant noise. Mud splattered up their legs with every pivot.
Dust burst outward with every clash, quickly turning dark and heavy as rain struck it.
Karlon lunged, leading foot stamping down hard enough to send mud spraying sideways; the curved sword whipped from his left in a rising uppercut that sang through the dark and the increasing downpour.
Recall met it mid-arc. The blade rode the shaft with serpentine grace, sliding past—just clearing Arion's scalp. A few silver strands drifted free, severed clean. Arion twisted his wrists immediately, using the contact to redirect the force rather than fight it head-on.
Instinct took over. Arion's hands twisted, channeling the incoming momentum into Recall's own swing. The metal fitting skimmed above Karlon's nose, jerking his head back, scales rasping against the edge. The motion pulled Arion's shoulders forward before he caught himself and reset.
They collided once more, bodies close enough that Arion could feel the heat radiating off Karlon's scales mixing with the cool rain.
"You impress me, friend!" Karlon laughed, breath hot with exhilaration.
"I don't see many quarterstaff wielders. Thrilled you're my first!"
"GRRR—" Arion snarled through clenched teeth, muscles burning from the repeated impacts.
"Will you shut up!?" he spat, jaw tight. "I'm trying to focus here!"
Idiot! Just ignore him!
Karlon's eyes flared wide with delight.
"Yes! Let us step it up a notch!"
His fingers clamped around Recall. Her pulse spiked erratically, violent—outraged at the alien grip. Arion felt the sudden heat transfer from the scales into the wood, warming his hands uncomfortably.
Then Karlon's scales hissed like coals doused in oil; crimson light bloomed along every ridge, radiance pooled outwards. The rain hitting his body evaporated instantly with sharp hisses.
Arion's eyes widened.
"Now," Karlon rumbled, voice dropping to a guttural, demonic timbre, "how will you handle this?"
"SCALE CREMATION!"
"Frost Snap!"
The two spells synchronized, a flare of white swept over them—then, detonation.
Flame and frost smashed together, birthing a roiling sphere of superheated steam that expanded with explosive fury. The blast hit Arion square in the chest, forcing the air from his lungs and scalding his exposed skin as hot mist enveloped them both.
The backlash hurled them apart.
Karlon dug heels into soil, blade carving the earth as he arrested his slide, sparks spitting from the edge and mud flying in clumps.
Rain continued to hammer down, turning the carved furrow into a small channel of water.
Arion took the worst of it. The steam cannoned him backward—skin scraping dirt, boots skidding uncontrollably in the slick mud, body tumbling until he slammed to a halt in a spray of mud and torn grass.
Pain ripped along his back from the slide.
Recall had spun free in the blast. He spotted her lying several metres away, wood gleaming wetly from the rain and steam.
Before he could reach out his hand, the steam curtain tore open.
A curved edge sliced straight for his throat—Arion rolled aside sharply, shoulder digging into mud, the blade whistling past his ear, close enough to feel the displaced air and the heat off the metal. Mud clung to his side as he pushed up.
He tumbled toward a stack of waterskins. With no time to think, he lunged sideways as Karlon's sword crashed down; liquid burst outward in glittering arcs, mixing with the rain and soaking the ground further.
Desperation snapped his thinking into place. Arion forced Luminary into the pooling water beside his arm, feeling the essence take hold of the currents immediately. The liquid whirled alive, spinning into a translucent disc that hardened mid-motion. His arm strained to hold position against the forming pressure.
A round shield of water snapped into a tight, dense spin.
It locked into place just as the next strike landed. The impact rang through bone, jarring his shoulder socket, but the shield held—barely. Water droplets sprayed outward with the force. Karlon was driving him like prey, each step forward pushing Arion's back deeper into the wet earth.
His other hand drove into the water's current.
Scald Burst.
The water erupted into boiling fury; steam roared outward like a dragon's breath, the heat flaring up and mixing with the falling rain.
Arion waited for some sign of damage, eyes narrowed against the scalding mist.
Instead, laughter—deep, mocking—cut through the hiss.
A hand plunged through the torrent, tearing through the water's spinning face. "You think some steam would hurt a Drakin?"
Arion drew his right arm back, fingers splayed wide.
His wrist tilted. Twisted. Fingers moved in tandem—then snapped.
His left hand kept the shield alive, holding the dense spinning current in front of him while his right shaped a second construct beside it, orange light flashing past the water's face in a blur.
VHRMMMMM!
Arion laughed between gritted teeth. "No. But this might."
Karlon's eyes tracked the sudden blaze of orange threading past the shield. A grinding disc burst into being at the side, edge screaming as it carved through water, steam, and dust alike, kicking up mud in a violent spray.
In an instant the curved blade rose to meet it.
KKTZZZZ!
The disc gnashed against steel, sparks cascading in violent orange-white fountains that hissed as rain hit them. Arion poured every scrap of will into the push, muscles in his shoulders burning from the sustained effort—yet the blade held, unyielding. The ground beneath him grew softer, sucking at his boots.
"You'll have to do better if you want to bite through Kavisli!" Karlon's chuckle rolled like distant thunder.
The downpour intensified without warning. Fat drops struck the Heat Coil and vanished in angry hisses; they met Karlon's scales and evaporated instantly.
TSS–TSS–TSS—
"Ahh, look what you've done," Karlon purred. "You've made him hungry."
Sharp teeth lined his mouth.
"He wants to show you something."
The Heat Coil faltered, rotation stuttering as its glow dimmed—siphoned away. Arion felt the drain pulling at his control through the connection.
Kavisli pulsed with stolen warmth, veins of orange tracing its length like molten rivers.
Shit!
Another stutter. Karlon shoved; the disc veered wide, the sudden loss of resistance making Arion stumble forward a step in the mud.
"Kavisli's starving now!"
He swept low and hard. The blade sliced through the water currents—
—impact.
Force lifted Arion clean off his feet, his body twisting mid-air as momentum took over.
Pit-Pat.
Pitter.
THUMP—SLUSH!
He struck mud, sliding across the slick surface in a spray of filth that coated his clothes and face. The impact knocked the wind out of him again; he tasted dirt mixed with rain.
He surged upright—
WOOSH—BLASH!
—Only to meet a right hook swinging like a siege ram. The fist connected with solid force, snapping his head to the side and sending fresh pain exploding through his jaw and neck.
The world broke apart into fragments—fist, mud, rain, tent canvas, flame. A brazier toppled; ash and glowing coals scattered across wet earth, hissing where they met puddles.
Rain tapped across his dazed face. The impact still shuddered through his bones.
He groaned.
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Karlon strode through the ruined tent canvas, boots crunching sodden cloth. He stepped into the next clearing and looked down. Rain streamed off his scales in steady rivulets.
Arion lay sprawled, fighting to reclaim his rattled senses. His head throbbed from the hook, ears still ringing.
The water shield spun one final, weary rotation before collapsing back into liquid and fading steam, the remnants soaking into the mud around him.
Arion crawled backward until his shoulders met the overturned brazier. One hand clutched the Heat Coil; the other rose in front of him—palm out, a trembling ward against the predator above. His fingers were stiff from the cold rain and prior strain.
"Ah, my friend," Karlon said, voice warm with mock sympathy as rain steamed off his scales. "Begging doesn't suit you."
Arion's laugh came ragged, edged with pain. "'Cause it isn't. Dipshit."
Karlon's brow furrowed.
A faint whistle sliced the downpour.
Karlon spun toward it.
He swept Kavisli upward—
CLANG!
The blade shuddered as Recall crashed into metal and scale, driving Karlon back several paces, his boots digging trenches in the mud from the force. Arion felt the successful connection through the staff.
Arion caught her on the descent, spun on his heel, and hurled the Heat Coil forward in a blazing arc. The throw used the rotation of his body, shoulder muscles protesting.
Karlon barely deflected; the disc grazed his cheek, drawing a sizzling line of blood that mixed with rain and steamed slightly.
Arion stood waiting, a faint smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, two fingers levelled at the Drakin like a loaded gun.
Rain fell harder, each drop glowing faintly as it hit the charged air.
Arion's Vitalis brushed the storm—a lattice of falling mirrors, every droplet refracting light in shimmering webs.
He exhaled once. Steady. Controlled.
A painful grin split his face—dangerous, reckless, cold as the rain that slid down his neck.
I wonder…
—— ❖ —— —— ❖ —— —— ❖ ——
Scale Cremation
Tier 3 — Dragonblood Invocation
Description:
A volatile self-ignition technique unique to Drakin lineage. The caster channels Luminary Essence through the lattice of their scales, fusing external Essence with the body's innate thermal Vitalis. The result is an over-saturation of stored heat — a chain reaction that combusts outward in a wave of incandescent fire. When triggered deliberately, the eruption incinerates everything within reach; when uncontrolled, it reduces the user to molten ruin.
Essence Principle:
Heat seeks equilibrium. When Vitalis refuses release, pressure turns inward until the boundary between self and flame collapses. Each scale becomes a micro-furnace, absorbing and amplifying Luminary until structural limits fail. The ensuing discharge manifests as a thermal shockwave — an outward translation of the body's collapse into pure combustion.
Practitioner's Note:
Mastery lies not in endurance, but in timing. Ignite too soon and you vanish; ignite too late and the enemy does. Contain the breath between skin and flame, guide the overload along the ridges, then let go before the flesh remembers pain.
Maxim:
"Burn the body, free the flame."