The skeleton knight stopped reeling from the impact of the boulder and grimace softly when he saw Diego-his master rip the head of the elf.
The elf was dead, but the danger remained. He had unleashed the power of skill-bound rune in his final moments, leaving his killers to face a vengeance that outlived its master.
Immediately, Diego ripped away the elf's head and jammed the body into the life-support pod. Blood still on his hands, he turned to face the official that the weight of the epic skill was still locked upon.
[Apologies for the gore, brother—I know it's ruined your dinner. But look up ahead and you'll see why it was necessary.]
The figure wielding the dark cleaver looked up in order to find out what Diego, his brother, was on about. As he looked up, he saw a large obsidian pillar aimed towards him, and anywhere he went, it seemed to be locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile.
Planting his feet, he ceased his movement only to surge forward again with a dark, knowing grin. He drew closer to the burning obsidian, but rather than closing the gap, he hurled his cleaver. The pillar erupted into shards in a single strike, yet the cleaver remained untouched by flame or fracture.
After the pillar was obliterated from existence, a bony hand reached into the ground to grab the cleaver; the weapon returned to its owner. However, the figure wielding it felt no happiness concerning the great feat that had just transpired.
His eyes kept drifting to the head on the floor, mesmerized by the victim's lingering fear. Finally, yielding to his thirst, he delivered a single, centered blow. The head parted into two clean slices—a gruesome division that offered him a profound, sickening comfort.
Diego shot a glance toward the head and then into the eyes of his brother, after a lingering look at his brother and a solemn nod, Diego turned his attention to the life support interface. His fingers danced over keys marked with alien glyphs.
A low hum filled the room as the elf's form was stripped of its vitality, the very energy of its being pulled from its flesh and funneled into a medium sized containment tube.
As the containment tube read 'life energy,' Diego watched the tube containing the green liquid within disintegrate—or so it appeared. Knowing better than to waste such precious energy, he had actually transferred the tube into his spatial storage just as it seemed to vanish.
Immediately after the tube containing the life energy of the elf was secured, Diego moved the dry husk of the lifeless corpse out of the life support pod. As he began to strip the assassin suit—the only piece of cloth that still retained its beauty despite the dry husk of a body it had covered—the rest of Diego's officials arrived.
Although he saw the officials arrive, he was still admiring the assassin's suit with a dark grin, noting the craftsmanship—the beautiful structure of the hardened leather that served as an improvised breastplate and the shiny aluminum-coated lacings at his elbows.
However, although the assassin's suit looked special, its material was immeasurably inferior to that of the custom-made dark vampire suit Diego was wearing. Even if Diego could find ways to overlook the suit's flaws, it was not befitting of his stature. With a forlorn look, he turned to his officials, considering their attributes, skills, and body structures to decide whom to bestow the suit upon.
Diego watched in surprise as the skeleton knight, having somehow endured the elf's summoned boulders, while still clutching its stiletto. Though it reeled and struggled to compose itself, a fragile courage held it together as it drifted in front of Diego.
[Master Diego,...] it gasped,
[I hope you would consider me for the privilege to wield such an amazing relic of combat.]
Since the undead were not known for considering the circumstances behind an action, it was hardly surprising that Diego still questioned the skeleton knight despite its somber display.
Diego asked while maintaining a stern look at the broken figure of the skeleton knight that was barely keeping himself a float.
[Who are you?]
[What are your attributes?]
[What skills do you possess?]
Despite the sharp pain he felt in his broken body, the skeleton knight smiled fondly at being addressed formally. He answered without delay.
[ A nameless servant.]
[ I have the ability to project phantom images of myself.]
[I specialize in close-quarters stabbing damage with my stiletto. My average height and slim build offer a roughly 50% chance to dodge incoming attacks. Though I am trained in flanking, I have yet to be gifted a blade suitable for such a task, and I can cover great distances at high speed.]
Diego continued with his inquiry, saying:
[That's a very nice way to describe yourself; however, I do have a few more questions.]
[First, I heard you say you can project phantom images—how many can you project at peak condition? ]
[Next, are you sure you can take up the mantle that this 'relic of combat,' as you call it, comes with?]
His bony frame rattled; the skeleton could hardly contain his excitement. His master, Diego, was actually considering him for the assassin suit. He answered instantly:
[I can manifest five phantoms in peak condition.]
[I accept this burden and will honor it. I shall not fail you.]
Diego took one last look at the assassin suit before gathering it and the scimitar. He held them out to the skeleton knight.
A flicker of surprise crossed the knight's features. Even though the scimitar's earth-shattering power had faded and its skill-bound runes which contained rare and epic skills were now dim and lifeless, the skeleton held it as if it were the greatest treasure in the world.
The remaining skeleton officials had mixed expressions on their faces, but none dared to reach for the gift their master had handed to the skeleton knight. Even Diego's brother cast furtive glances at the scimitar.
Diego acted as if he didn't notice the tension as he said:
[Time for war. Let us head to Darkovia to rally more troops.]